A/N: Sorry, this took longer than anticipated to Beta.

Chapter 10: Backlash

Harry wasn’t taken by surprise when he picked up the Daily Prophet the next morning as he sat down to eat breakfast. The reason for that was the hastily scribbled note tucked into his pocket that he’d received the previous evening in the middle of Transfiguration. McGonagall hadn’t been particularly pleased, but after she’d asked Harry to stay behind, and he’d gotten a chance to show her the contents, her anger was rapidly re-directed. Harry had quickly spread the word to the rest of his close friends, but decided to let the others find out on their own. As he’d guessed, this was one matter that Fudge wanted nothing more than to have splashed across the front page.

Harry,

Mum’s just been arrested. Bones, Stoutheart, and a couple of other blokes too. They’ve been charged with conspiracy and all kinds of treason. Fudge was talking about negotiating with Voldemort. He’s nutters. Scrimgeour’s not here. Dunno why. Didn’t see Smith either. Drake sold them out. Never liked him.

Tell Dumbledore.

Tonks

Written by a hand that was practically dancing across the paper, jittery as all hell, and producing writing that was barely legible, Harry hadn’t even recognized Tonks’ distinctive handwriting, lacking as it was all of its unnecessary loops and curls added for no other reason but that she liked to draw them.

The headline stood out in big bold letters, dominating the front page. It was, predictably, horribly misleading.

COUP IN THE MINISTRY!
PLOT TO OVERTHROW MINISTER THWARTED!

BONES, KENDRICK, OTHERS ARRESTED. MINISTER “SHOCKED”

Harry didn’t even bother to read the article; he already had enough to be angry about on this day. He glanced around the Great Hall and noticed his girlfriend doing the same thing. Harry watched in fascination as his schoolmates began to absorb the news, talking in excited whispers as they passed the Prophet along. The noise level in the Great Hall steadily rose from dead silence and a cold chill seemed to descend upon those gathered. Nothing about it was related to the frosty late November weather. Harry saw Susan Bones, who was being bombarded with hostile looks and questions, get up from her seat at the Hufflepuff table and not quite storm out. Still, she was visibly upset. Given that her primary caretaker had just been arrested, it was difficult not to blame her. Harry was still stunned that Fudge had gone that far. And if this nonsense about Fudge opening negotiations with Voldemort, treating him as an equal for all intents and purposes, was really true, Harry was more than a little terrified of what was to come. Scrimgeour had escaped, whether by foreknowledge or blind chance, and was yet to be seen. Alexander Smith had also not been mentioned, which was good. That meant there were two figures powerful enough and influential enough to challenge Fudge. But what was to say the Minister wouldn’t go ahead and haul them in on fabricated charges?

He felt a hand on his arm, and turned his head. Ginny was staring back at him, her brown eyes shining with emotion. “Go to her,” she whispered. “You owe her that much.”

Harry had to agree, and rose, letting Ginny’s hand slip out of his and followed Susan out of the Great Hall. He felt the stares follow him out as well, but didn’t look back.

Susan hadn’t gone far, fortunately. She was standing a few meters from the staircase in the Entrance Hall, her back turned to him. Harry approached slowly, but made no effort to hide his presence. She didn’t react, but he was fairly certain she knew someone was there. “I suppose the only thing I can say is that I’m sorry,” Harry said in a subdued tone.

“Sorry for what, exactly?” Susan asked sharply, turning to face him. Her eyes were red, through she wasn’t crying any longer. “Sorry for leading my aunt down a path to political suicide? Sorry for taking my last living relative away from me?”

“Susan, I never asked your aunt to remove Fudge. She did that because she believed it was the right thing to do. If what I’ve been hearing recently about Fudge’s activities is accurate, then I support her choice wholeheartedly.”

“She didn’t act until after I’d sent that letter, until after you’d manipulated me to make me lose my composure and someone managed to convince me you were actually contrite. I should have never trusted you, Potter. I’m not sure why I ever thought you were worthy of our loyalty.”

Harry searched for a response, but came up empty.

Susan glared at him. “Potter, I think you mean well. I think you have our best interests at heart, or at least believe that you do. But you are a bloody teenager. No one is going to listen to you, and if they are foolish enough to follow your lead they are going to get hurt. Leave this to the adults. I understand what you’ve been through, but you don’t know what you are doing.”

Harry fought back a surge of anger from the remarks, recognizing in his heart that Susan was only telling him what she perceived as the truth. “Susan, I’m not going to ask you to trust me, much less to like me. I’m sorry for what’s happened, and I suppose that some of it might be my fault. I’m not even going to try to justify myself to you.”

“Then what are you doing?” she demanded.

“I’m telling you that this is just the start. Things are going to get worse. How deep the chasm goes rides on how long Fudge is allowed to guide the Wizarding world down a path to utter destruction.”

“Potter, how can you possibly know that? I realize that things aren’t going well, and that You-Know-Who’s running around with nobody trying to stop him, but you make it sound like Judgment Day is coming.”

Harry frowned. “Judgment Day?” That was a term he hadn’t heard before.

“Some religious Muggles believe that at some point in the future the end of the world will come, and everyone that’s ever lived will be held accountable for their actions…what I’m trying to say is that I think you might be overstating the point.”

There was a knock at the door, and Cornelius Fudge looked up from the report he was skimming. The door opened, and Sarah McGlinchy stepped through. She looked particularly attractive today, the Minister of Magic thought. He’d always had a thing for brunettes, even though his wife, Elizabeth, was a blonde. That marriage had been one of political convenience. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t fond of her; she was kind, intelligent, and most importantly, knew her place. But Cornelius felt no real love for her, and she most likely knew it. He honestly wasn’t sure what his wife felt for him, though he guessed it to be stronger than his own feelings.

“Yes, Sarah?” he asked. He tilted his head. “I must say, you look quite beautiful today.”

The veteran Auror smiled bashfully and nodded. Just as quickly, she regained her composure. “Lucius Malfoy is here to see you, sir.”

Fudge frowned. “Lucius? Why now?”

“He didn’t say, sir. He just said that it was urgent. He seems quite angry about something.”

Cornelius considered that. It took him two seconds to realize there were only a few things that might cause Lucius Malfoy to be angry with him at this present time. As much as he wanted at that moment to have Sarah tell the man he wasn’t available, he didn’t feel it worth the risk. “Very well, send him in. Oh, Sarah, I was wondering…when do you get off duty?”

“When you do, sir. I have no official business for the Aurors today.” She smiled playfully.

Fudge returned her smile. “Why don’t you come to my office after you are off duty? Perhaps we could have dinner?”

“That sounds wonderful, sir,” she said. “It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

“Far too much time, I feel,” Cornelius replied earnestly. She grinned back at him. He cleared his throat. “Ah, let’s not keep Mr. Malfoy waiting any longer than necessary.”

Sarah instantly went back into ‘professional’ mode. “Yes sir.”

She exited. A few moments later, and the tall figure of Lucius Malfoy, serpent’s head cane and all, entered the room. Fudge gave him a look of innocent curiosity. “Ah, Lucius. What can I do for you? I heard that your business was most urgent.”

“You could say that, Minister. At least, more “urgent” than your investigation into the death of Thomas Avery seems to have been. It’s been months, Minister, months. You have my testimony yet Dressler is still walking around, a free woman, teaching schoolchildren? What kind of justice is that, Cornelius?”

The Minister of Magic was taken aback a bit by the rage in his old acquaintance’s voice. “Lucius, I assure you, that matter is of great personal importance to me, and I shall not wait a moment longer than is necessary…”

“De fine necessary, if you would,” Lucius spat back. “Give me the truth, Fudge.”

Cornelius took in a deep breath. “Mr. Malfoy, please be reasonable. The physical evidence does not point to any suspect. All we have is your word against that of a celebrated war hero. We cannot go to trial with such little evidence, Lucius. We cannot risk it.”

“You are frightened of her, aren’t you?” Lucius said softly. “I suppose you should be. She’d wipe the floor with you in a duel, and she’s as brilliant as she is deranged. May I remind you of the deaths of Amycus and Alecto Carrow?”

“Lucius, both were former Death Eaters, killed whilst in the process of carrying out illegal activities, to put it lightly.”

“The brutality with which they were killed, especially Amycus, points to a killer that is fanatically dedicated, a killer that believes he or she is doing what is right, what is just. A killer that has no conscience, because he or she believes that the targets deserve a fate worse than death. Thomas Avery was brutally murdered. He was ambushed, tortured to the point of insanity, and then killed with the Avada Kedavra.”

“I know all of that, Lucius,” Fudge said tiredly. “And I suspect that you are right. But I can’t do anything unless I can prove it. That is the way the system works.”

“Then the system is broken, and we must circumvent it. I will not stand for this, Fudge. Thomas’s record was that of a generous and kindly gentleman, acquitted all of crimes he allegedly committed because he had no choice in his actions. I was also forced to do horrific things under the power of the Imperius Curse. Will Dressler come for me next? She clearly has no concept of justice except for the one that’s been twisted and defiled by in her own diseased mind. I demand action, Cornelius.”

Fudge sat up in his chair. “Lucius, I’ve known you for a long time, and I respect you. But you are in no position to demand anything from me.”

Lucius glared at him. “If you refuse to act, you will compromise the negotiations with the Dark Lord. Is Dressler’s life worth that?”

“What have you to do with those negotiations?” Fudge demanded.

“I am a servant of the Dark Lord, Cornelius.”

“Yet you maintain your innocence.”

“I have done nothing illegal since I joined the Dark Lord’s ranks. I have committed no crimes. I joined him for ideological reasons. But I have grown close to him, Cornelius. You had best appease my demands, or the deal is off. Do not test me on this.”

Fudge sighed, and remained silent for a long moment. “Very well,” he said at last. “I will do as you ask. I will issue a warrant for Daphne Dressler’s arrest for the murder of Avery. I cannot promise anything more.”

“She doesn’t deserve a trial, Cornelius,” Lucius hissed.

“Nonetheless, she will get one, because she is entitled to one under the law. I cannot do anything about that.”

“I’ll make sure she’s found guilty, don’t worry about that,” Lucius replied ominously. “Thank you for your time, Minister.”

He turned and left, leaving Fudge sweating bullets in his office chair.

Andromeda Virgo Black Tonks sat alone on the edge of her bed in a dim cell somewhere in the basement of the Ministry of Magic, trying desperately to understand how in Merlin’s name she’d ended up in this situation. Andromeda had never been one prone to getting into trouble, even from her childhood days. She was always the quiet one, the well-behaved one: curious but cautious. The three Black sisters had been special, each in their own way. Bellatrix was the most powerful magically; that had never been in doubt. Narcissa had her own strengths. Andromeda’s magical potential was probably below average for a pureblood. That was fine with her; she’d never been overly reliant on magic to go about her daily life. But it hadn’t sat so well with her family, especially when she had two prodigies in her extended family: Bellatrix and Sirius. Well, it might be a bit of stretch to describe Sirius as a prodigy. Prodigies usually took interest in the great potential they could hypothetically reach. Privately, Andromeda thought that Sirius had wasted most of that potential, and given his stay in Azkaban he might have missed his chance to become one of the leading wizards of his generation. A skilled duelist he was, but still…he could have been so much more.

Andromeda leaned back against the cold, stone wall of her prison. It wasn’t really the best time to allow her thoughts to linger on what might have been. Then again, it wasn’t as if she really had anything to do instead. She had no illusions about escape; even if it were possible, she knew that she’d be as alone out there as she was in here. Even Dumbledore could not help her. To do so would be to send a message to Fudge that he was taking sides, and in so doing, he’d bring about the Minister’s greatest nightmare; that a man with the following and power of Albus Dumbledore was challenging his rule, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. He’d try, of course. Fudge was nothing if not stubborn. But Andromeda had no desire to see a power struggle waged on her behalf. She was not nearly that important. Amelia had talked to her at length about the consequences of what they were doing; it seemed as though her boss was trying to rationalize her own actions and choices by framing them in the context of Andromeda’s situation.

And all things considered, her situation could have been worse. She was a prisoner, yes, but she’d been treated humanly, fed regularly, and the accommodations, though far less comfortable than anything she was used to, were rather good for a woman in her position. Really, her greatest problem was boredom. She knew some sensitive information, yes, but not enough to warrant any extra interrogation, beyond the ten-minute session she’d already been through.

She heard noises, and sat up straighter. Two or three voices in the distance could be heard, though she couldn’t make out any of the words. After about a minute, she heard a lock opening, and stood up, ready to meet her visitor. She unconsciously straightened her robes, brushing off some of the accumulated dust. .

“I’m fine right here,” she heard a very familiar voice inform one of the guards. “I don’t need a guide to find my own mum. Just wait out there.”

“My orders-”

“Look, you’ve got my wand, do you really think I’m going to pull something? Can’t you give a fellow Auror a few minutes with her mum?” There was a pause. “That’s a good chap.”

She heard two pairs of footsteps, one getting fainter, the other growing in volume. She decided to stay where she was, and sure enough, her daughter, wearing off-duty attire, sauntered up to her cell door. She stopped, staring at the bars. “Oh come on, Sanders! You expect me to talk through these? Get your arse over here and let me in! That’s an order!”

Another figure, this one wearing red Auror’s robes, hustled up to the cell. He pulled out a key, and then hesitated. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to-”

Her daughter grabbed his arm. “If it’ll make you feel better, you can lock me in with her.”

The Auror, a young brown-haired man who couldn’t have been older than eighteen, nodded and unlocked the cell. “I’ll give you ten minutes.”

Already halfway into the cell, Nymphadora swung around to face him. “You’ll give me as long as I bloody well please, Cadet Sanders!”

“Yes Ma’am!” the boy snapped.

“Go on, then!” Nymphadora said, waving him out. After closing and locking the cell door, the boy hurried out of their sight. Nymphadora sighed, looking around. “Bloody hell mum, they’ve buried you a few hundred miles underground. I didn’t even know this place existed.”

“Really, it didn’t until about a week ago. After the breakout from Azkaban, the Ministry needed a new holding facility. These tunnels have been down here for quite some time; we’re not sure who built them, when, or why. They don’t seem to lead anywhere.”

“Goblins, most likely,” her daughter said, looking around. “We aren’t the best at tunneling through solid rock if you know what I mean.”

“You’re probably right,” Andromeda conceded. She’d never really had much respect for the creatures before. She’d been taught that she was better than them; that they were greedy and treacherous beings whose place was in the service of wizards. Harry had imparted some ideas to her daughter that radically challenged that worldview. The very idea that goblins could wield their own magic, which was, of course, what history textbooks stated was the advantage that gave wizards superiority over all other peoples in this world, was almost frightening to her.

Her daughter laughed.

“What?”

Nymphadora smiled. “You know, I never imagined this situation. Here, you’re the one in trouble and I’m the one in a position of authority trying to get you out of the mess you’ve made.”

Andromeda couldn’t hold back an ironic chuckle at that. “If you’d told me a few years ago that this was going to happen, I might have smacked you. I suppose that just shows we can never foresee everything.” She sighed. “You seem to be quite the boss around here.”

“Well, that’s because the cadets get stuck with guard duty. If this were, say, Azkaban, I doubt I could have pulled that off. Bloody kids don’t know any better. They know I’m their superior in rank, and until recently I was on track to earn a commander’s badge. So when I tell them to do something, even dressed like this, they do it. They’re bloody frightened of me.” She laughed again. “I’m suspended, of course, but they don’t know that. That’s why I had to get here as quickly as I could, before the word gets out.”

“Suspended?&rdqu o; Andromeda repeated.

Her daughter nodded. “Did you really expect anything different? I mean, Fudge is paranoid as hell, and I suppose that for once he’s got good reason to be. I’m the one who told Dumbledore and the Order about what really happened. I was there, hiding, when they took you lot away in chains. Fudge was hoping to keep it all secret for a few days, but when he heard that Dumbledore knew what had happened he had to act before everything was in place. The public’s bought it, for now, but he doesn’t have the evidence to make that sale stick, because he didn’t have time to manufacture it. Drake’s refusing to help him further.”

“I suppose I should have suspected him from the start. Jericho’s a good man, but he’s bound by tradition, more than most. His family had never betrayed a Light government. And Jericho, while brave in combat, didn’t really seem the type to break that mold in peacetime.”

“Yeah, well, it happens. Why’d he do it?”

“He was scared of us. He was frightened by the plans we were making. We were talking about a coup, a genuine coup d’état against Fudge. He wasn’t willing to follow where we were leading him. And so he did what he could to distance himself and stop us in our tracks. Has Rufus been arrested?”

“Surprising ly, no,” Nymphadora replied. “I mean, I’m more than a little shocked.”

“I’m not sure I am,” Andromeda said. “Jericho did what he wanted; he distanced himself from our efforts and he stopped the plan from going through. But he’s got no personal loyalty to Fudge beyond loyalty to the position of government he holds. By betraying the other plotters, he’d just be helping Fudge, not making things any better.”

“And that whole mess makes sense to you?” Nymphadora asked.

“I’m not saying I would have done the same thing,” Andromeda clarified. “But what he did, even if it was the wrong thing to do, and a cowardly thing to do, was rational, and to an extent, understandable, given his situation.”

“Mum, it’s not right.”

“His betrayal? Or the fact that we live in a world where I can rationalize it, even understand it?”

“Both, I guess,” Nymphadora said, sighing. “Do you have any idea how long you’ll be in here, Mum?”

“I hoped that you might know the answer to that question,” was Andromeda’s reply. “I’ve heard absolutely nothing since I was arrested yesterday.”

“I don’t think Fudge knows what do to with the lot of you,” her daughter said. “He can’t keep someone like Amelia locked up for very long. He doesn’t have the evidence to make holding her or any of you for an extended period of time acceptable in the public mind. His decisions and judgment are always under question, in no small part thanks to Harry’s interviews.”

“Yes, I guess he will have to answer to the people in short order. The very idea of someone like Amelia Bones plotting a takeover of the Ministry has to seem absurd to some people.”

“The list of precisely who will be getting steadily larger as time goes on. People haven’t had a chance to digest all of this yet. When they do, Fudge had better be ready for it.”

“Still, I’m likely in for a pretty long stay,” Andromeda said, sighing.

“Yeah, I’d reckon so.”

“Will you be suspended for that whole time?”

“Worried about me, Mum? Nah, Rufus already knows about this. He won’t stand for it. I’ll be back on active duty in no time at all. My removal from Fudge’s personal security detail will most likely be permanent. Not that I care much. Those brownnosers McGlinchy and Dawlish can have the bugger.”

Andromeda smiled. “That’s my girl,” she said proudly. “I only wish your father could have been here to see you.”

“Aw, we’re better off without him,” Nymphadora said, waving dismissively.

“Maybe,” Andromeda said. “I do still miss him. Ted…well, he wasn’t perfect, but he was a good man at heart.”

Nymphadora frowned. “You can really still say that after he ran off with that skirt, whatshername?”

“Julia, ” Andromeda supplied. “I can’t say that it didn’t hurt, when he cheated on me, but that wasn’t why I left him.”

“Really?”< /p>

“I guess I never really talked about this with you,” Andromeda said. “Nymmy, I didn’t leave him because he cheated on me. I loved Ted. I kept his last name, after all of that.”

“Mum, I can’t see you calling yourself ’Black’ under any circumstances.”

“True, ” she acknowledged. “But Nymmy, the reason I left him is because of you. I could have lived with it if he’d just been unfaithful to me. But his infidelity didn’t stop there, and that was something I couldn’t live with. He ignored you, his own daughter. I think he might have been scared of you; getting used to the fact that he’d married a witch was difficult enough. But you were as much his daughter as you were mine, and he never had any time for you.”

Nymphadora froze. “You really did all of that for me?”

“Well, not completely, but you tipped the balance. It probably would have happened sooner or later; I would have lost patience with him, or he might have just gotten up and left. I did get to end it on my own terms, which is worth something.”

“You heard from him since?”

Andromeda shook her head. “No. He’s just disappeared back into the Muggle world. I can’t say I’m disappointed. I’ve moved on, and I’m sure he has too.”

“Ever get his mail? What with having his last name and all?”

“Sometimes,&rdqu o; Andromeda smiled. She shook her head. “It was a long time ago, Nymmy. He left when you were still an infant.”

“I don’t remember him, really. Just a few random images that may or may not be real,” her daughter admitted.

Andromeda gently grasped her daughter by the shoulders. “Nymmy, you have no idea how proud I am of you. You are the most important thing in my life.”

Her daughter groaned. “Aw, Mum, did you really have to go there? Way to put pressure on a girl!”

Andromeda smiled in amusement. “Nymphadora, no matter what you do with your life, I will always be proud of you. I don’t want you to ever doubt that.”

“Thanks, Mum,” her daughter replied, beaming. She checked her watch. “Well, I better be going, otherwise I might end up joining you in this cell. I’m technically breaking the law right now.”

“Go on,” Andromeda urged her. “I’ll be fine. Trust me, seeing you has made this experience a bit more bearable.”

The Tonks women embraced, and Andromeda planted a kiss on her daughter’s forehead. “Good luck, Nymmy.”

“You too, Mum.”

They separated, and Nymphadora turned to leave, before realizing that her path was blocked by the iron bars of her mother’s cell. “Bloody hell,” she cursed. “SANDERS! GET YOUR ARSE OVER HERE AND LET ME OUT!”

Harry sat on the shore of the lake, reflecting on the day’s events. He should have seen it coming. He should have known that Fudge’s arrogance and paranoia would mean a carefully orchestrated plot involving extended planning and a myriad of different sectors of the Ministry was doomed from the start, but at the time he’d been too exhilarated by the prospects of Fudge being replaced by someone competent that the possibility things could fall apart in such a spectacular fashion hadn’t even occurred to him. Once more, overconfidence had proven to be his weakness. The painful reality, Harry was learning, was that he never knew as much as he thought he did, and that there was always someone with more experience, more skill, more influence. For all of his pessimism, Snape’s warnings about the dangers of destabilizing the Ministry and assuming that the masses would follow once action was taken were proving to more accurate than he’d anticipated.

It was an odd place for Harry to be, given that the reason he was out here was that he felt the need to escape from the shockwaves still reverberating through Hogwarts as its students and staff learned more about the shocking events of the past day. Susan’s accusations, though driven more by anger than rational perception, had played their own role in Harry’s decision to forsake his classes in favor of blissful solitude.

“Blissful indeed,” Harry whispered quietly to himself. Not ten meters from where he was standing was where he’d first dragged Ginny ashore, exhausted by the Herculean effort that he’d needed just to survive the attempt on his life. Her blood had continued to flow, hardly stemmed by his inexpert attempt at bandaging the wound with strips of her robes. She’d lain there, motionless, and Harry had leaned over her, hopeless, afraid, and angry. Ironically, his own emotions had been echoed all the stronger seconds later when Fleur Delacour had noticed Gabrielle’s body. Ginny had been hurt badly, but she’d lived despite it all. His ordeal, as bad as it had been, could have been far worse.

He sighed as he tried to push the memories of that dreadful day back into the darkest recesses of his mind. It hardly made it any easier that Harry probably owned his life on that day to Cedric Diggory, killed months later for being at the wrong place at the wrong time, for being stubborn enough to refuse to surrender the Triwizard Tournament to his Slytherin rival. But Cedric’s passion to win glory for his House, his stubborn nobility, his competitive spirit, and his desire for fairness in all things were an essential part of his character. Had Cedric given up, had he not fought Harry with every fiber of his being, for that one moment in time, he would not have been Cedric Diggory.

The memories of his fourth year at Hogwarts would haunt him for the rest of his life. If the ordeal he’d suffered in the Chamber of Secrets at the hands of his own guardian had been an awakening, the trials and tribulations of the previous year had been his initiation into the brutal, uncaring ritual of war.

He felt the presence even before he heard the voice, but he was still surprised when he recognized the speaker. “Been a tough day, hasn’t it?”

Harry began to nod, but then realized that the gesture couldn’t be seen. “I suppose it has,” he sighed. “The first of many, I fear.”

“Probably, if what I hear around is right.”

Peter Lowry, looking considerably less disheveled and unkempt than the last time they’d met, plopped down next to the Boy-Who-Lived. The jumper he wore seemed in better shape than most of his other clothing, leading Harry to wonder if it might have been a gift from another student. “You know,” Harry said, “they don’t often take kindly to First Years skipping out on their classes.”

“I guess you didn’t hear the news. Classes are cancelled for the day. Teachers are all in a big, important meeting, I reckon.”

“Right,&rdquo ; Harry said, mentally kicking himself. Of course the first thing Dumbledore would do would be to convene his staff, probably bring some of the Order members in on it, too. Hell, he might have taken McGonagall and some of the others straight to Black Manor already.

“Is it true what they say? Somebody tried to overthrow the Ministry?”

Harry was mildly disappointed that the boy would even ask the question in such a manner. “Not exactly. Fudge arrested some people on charges of conspiracy, but nothing’s been proven.”

Peter chuckled slightly, which drew a look from Harry. “Boy, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were disappointed. It’s not as if you weren’t right in the thick of things, as it were. I’m no fool, Potter.”

The combination of his youthful cheerfulness and his East London accent made him sound like the arrogant son of some Muggle mob boss. It was refreshing, in its own way. “Alright, you got me,” Harry said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “How much chocolate from Honeydukes will earn your silence?”

Peter grinned. “Looky here…the great ‘Arry Potter reduced to bribing a bloody eleven year old. What’s the world come to, eh?”

Harry smiled despite himself. Peter was really unlike anyone he’d ever known. Maybe that was why he liked him so much.

“So what’s so ‘great’ about me?” he asked.

“I ain’t got no bloody clue. Ya must’ve been a hell of a baby, if you did what they say.”

Harry couldn’t hold back a smile at that assessment. “I suppose I was. Mum did all the work, though.”

“Yeah, I’ve also heard that,” Peter admitted.

“Do you make a habit of pretending not to know things?” Harry asked.

“Sometimes,” Peter replied. His voice grew serious. “Pot…Harry, we need to talk.”

“Yes. Yes, I’d say we do,” Harry replied, turning to face the First Year. “Do you understand how incredible your ability really is? Wandless magic is a rare gift, an increasingly rare one, actually. Even in centuries past, it took years of training before anyone could do anything like what you are capable of doing.”

“Well, I didn’t have any reason to know that,” Peter insisted defensively. “I’m just a bloody Mudblood.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “That’s a pejorative, you know?”

“A perjora-whatsit?”

“An insult, if you will. Certainly not something I’ve ever heard a Muggleborn use to describe themselves.”

“Hey, I don’t really give a rat’s arse what people think of my family. Truth is, they could use the worst words they’ve got, and they still wouldn’t be close.”

“That bad, huh?”

“You bet,” Peter said. A growing look of discomfort spread over his face. It might be occurring to him that he shouldn’t be so open like this to a person that was, really, a total stranger.

“It’s alright,” Harry said. “You can trust me. If my guardians are to be believed, my aunt and uncle are pretty abhorrent people too.”

“Abhorrent? I like that word.”

“So, what’s your story, anyway?”

Peter hesitated. “I’m Muggleborn.”

“Really? Hadn’t noticed.”

Peter gave him a sour look. “I grew up in London. Not in the nicest of places, you see. It was just my mum and me for most of the time. Dunno what happened to my dad. Mum never said anything, and I didn’t ask.”

“I see.”

“I got some schooling, but not as much as I was supposed to. Mum was sick a lot; I had to watch over her while she got better. When I got older I had to help keep things together. Mum would sometimes even forget to go to church.”

“Church?&rdqu o; Harry asked.

“Mum was a real religious sort. We walked about an hour each Sunday to the Catholic Church closest to us. Had to get into our “Sunday best,” at least to the extent we could dress all nice.”

“Are you religious?” Harry asked. It became quickly became evident that he’d made a mistake.

“Bloody hell no, what do you take me for, anyway? Mum has her God, and her Christ, and it’s never done us even a little good. She reads the Bible all the time; I’ve seen her copy lying around the house. She highlights and underlines particular passages…mostly the bits about the Devil.”

“The Devil?” Harry asked. His knowledge of Muggle faiths wasn’t particularly strong. “Sort of her God’s opposite, his rival?”

“Kinda like that,” Peter replied. “I dunno, I never paid much attention in Church anyway. Well, not really…” He looked away, and then down at his feet. “Lots of talk about witches and possession and the like.”

Harry hesitated for a moment. “Peter, how did your mum react when she found out you could do magic?”

Peter turned on him, eyes blazing. “How do you think she bloody well reacted? She was scared to death, angry, thought I was possessed by Satan hisself!”

Harry frowned. Something was wrong here. “Peter, did she hurt you?”

“That’s none of your business,” Peter snapped.

There was a long silence. “I’m sorry, Peter,” Harry said softly.

“I told you: it’s none of your business,” Peter insisted.

“Peter, what were those Slytherins talking about with regards to your family?” Harry asked gently. He had a feeling he was on to something.

“What is this, an interrogation?” Peter demanded angrily. “I don’t have to tell you nothing.”

“No, you don’t,” Harry agreed. “This is purely voluntary. But I want to help you, Peter. I was once in your position, at the bottom of the Slytherin hierarchy, hated and bullied for reasons beyond my control. I don’t want to ever see anyone go through that again. But I can’t help you unless you tell me what happened,” he finished.

Peter wore an expression of utter vulnerability. “I’m an abomination,” he said quietly. “At least if you ask any of my ancestors.”

Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You heard what the other said? About my family?”

Harry tried to recall the incident. He remembered some references to the deaths of wizards, various methods of execution, but the context was unclear. “I…not really,” he admitted. “I was angrier with them for bullying you. The reasons for it weren’t that important.”

Peter looked away, over the lake. “Back in the day, you know, they used to kill people because they were witches. Most thought it was just superstition, but a lot of people got killed even so.”

“I’m aware of that,” Harry said.

“I’ll bet you don’t know that some of my relatives were right in the center of the whole thing.”

“Your ancestors were magistrates?”

“Magistr ates, priests…what they all had in common was the Faith. And they all thought that witchcraft was a thing of the Devil.”

“They weren’t alone,” Harry said, trying to process everything he was hearing.

“No, they weren’t. But that Justin Lowry made a lot of enemies. I’m not even sure how he’s related to me; how many generations have passed, you know?”

“Most of us have family that we aren’t proud of,” Harry said, thinking of Sirius, before Lily’s sister and her family popped up in his mind.

“Funny thing is that for a while, I was proud of ‘em. That’s what Mum said. I think that was all she had left, her God, her religion, her family history. God knows she had nothing else. Well, nothing else worth a damn. Just some little demon child.”

“She saw you perform magic.”

Peter nodded. “I didn’t even do anything. A can of paint fell off a shelf and might have split my skull if I hadn’t stopped it. I just thought about wanting it to stop and it started floating in the air, right in front of Mum. Another time, when she grabbed me a bit too hard, she got shocked. I got a whale of beating for that. I was nothing. I don’t know why she even kept me around. I was just a useless little freak.”

“You’re magical, Peter. That doesn’t make you a freak.”

“Oh, cut it out,” Peter retorted angrily. “You’ve seen what I can do! You seen anyone else do that recently? Nobody ever taught me anything. I’m still a freak, and it ain’t worth your while to try to make me feel better about it.”

“Peter, you are gifted,” Harry assured him. “What you can do…it’s almost unheard of for a Muggleborn. You’ve got amazing potential.”

“I can’t control it,” Peter said quietly. “What I did with those pots…that’s the first time I managed it. And what use is being able to juggle a bunch of pots, anyway.”

“It’s a start,” Harry told him.

The two faced each other for a few seconds, Peter’s eyes darting here and there. Harry’s fingers dug into his robe, and touched an unfamiliar object. He pulled it out. It was the odd artifact that Luna had given him earlier in the year. Peter’s gaze instantly shifted to it.

“What’s that?” he asked, sounding a bit frightened.

“I’ve honestly got no idea,” Harry said, flipping it over. “A friend of mine gave it to me. I don’t know why.”

Peter looked closer. “Can I see it?”

“Sure.” He handed the artifact to the boy.

“Can’t you hear that?” he asked.

Harry strained, but he heard nothing but a light breeze, some distant chatter, and water gently lapping over the rocky shore of the lake.

“That humming…” Peter said quietly. “It’s beautiful. You really can’t hear it?”

“No,” Harry said. “Do you feel any different?”

“I’m not sure. Can I keep it? See what happens?”

“Go ahead,” Harry said, smiling. He checked his watch. “I really ought to get going. Ginny and Hermione will wonder where I got off to.”

Harry rose and turned to leave. He’d taken three steps when he heard, “Thanks, Harry.”

He turned around. “For what?”

Peter shrugged.

“So, I’ve finished marking your essays, and overall, I’m pleased,” Daphne Dressler, Professor, Defense Against the Dark Arts, informed her class of 5th years, a class that included her ward. “There are, however, some areas of concern that I would like to address before we go any further.”

There were a few scattered groans, even distributed between the Gryffindors and Slytherins. Daphne’s teaching style, while a bit less intense and considerably less intimidating than it had began, was still highly demanding. The consequence, though, was that her students were actually learning useful skills and strategies for the first time since Lupin had been around. Harry still felt they were woefully unprepared for any kind of attack, but it was better than what they’d had before.

Indeed, her classroom exercises had been effective enough that Harry had placed his idea of an extra-curricular dueling club on the side for the time being. Besides his time was very limited, as Snape was doing his very best to make Harry give up on a long-term future in Potions by assigning concoctions that stretched Harry’s concentration, intuition, and memory to the breaking point. Snape wasn’t doing it to belittle him, or humiliate him, but at this point, Harry’s initial and surprising aptitude for the subject was beginning to peter out and Snape had recommended he drop the advanced study course, leaving Elisha to continue on alone. Harry wasn’t willing to give up so easily and privately believed Snape would be quite disappointed if he did. Still, the additional study time was leading to a lot of late nights, and more than a few all-nighters, as Harry still had other work that needed his attention.

“We’re coming up on the holiday break in a few weeks. I’m pleased with the progress that you’ve all made. When we began, most of you were well below what I’d consider acceptable in terms of basic spell casting, magical repertoire, and knowledge of personal defense strategies. Now, I think each of you might actually have a chance to fend off an attacker long enough to summon the authorities. You should be proud of how far you’ve come. I haven’t made this easy for you; at times, I’ve sought to present you with challenges I did not expect you to be able to overcome. Some of you have surpassed my expectations, but all of you have given a good effort, and as your teacher, I appreciate that.”

Daphne paused, gathering herself. “I wanted to give you an opportunity to ask questions. They can concern the material, my teaching methods, the exercises we’ve done in class, or anything else if you so wish.” A few hands were raised. “Miss Brown?”

Lavender, who had, despite appearing terribly incompetent earlier in the year, proven herself to be, if nothing else, a hard worker, seemed anxious about her question. “Professor…what exactly are we going to be learning during the second half of the year? We’ve covered most of the spells that you talked about at the beginning of the term, except for, well…”

“The more dangerous ones,” Daphne finished. “Some of the Dark ones. I do understand your concern, Miss Brown, and I must admit that the syllabus for the second half of the year is still a work in progress. This is my first time teaching schoolchildren, and I have learned some difficult lessons along the way. I will do my best to avoid making any of you feel uncomfortable with the material. I also want to go back over much of the material, and refine your new skills. Any other questions? Miss Granger?” Harry sat up straighter, glancing over at his friend.

“Professor,” Hermione said, “you had discussed the possibility of a midterm examination before the Holliday Break…”

“Right, ” Daphne said. “I’m still working on the details, but I think today is a good day to inform you that during the last week of classes, there will be an examination, most likely involving an essay as well as a practical demonstration of some of the skills you’ve acquired. I will try to give you more detail by the end of the week.”

Hermione nodded, scribbling notes.

Daphne began to turn to the board, and then stopped dead in her tracks. Harry frowned. He couldn’t sense anything unusual. The cause of Daphne’s unease became clear when the door to the classroom was shoved open with unnecessary force, smacking loudly into the castle wall. Two red-robed figures hurried into the room, taking up positions on either side. Following them was the graceful, menacing figure of Lucius Malfoy, and finally, Cornelius Fudge. Harry felt a chill go down his spine.

“What is the meaning of this?” Daphne demanded. Her right arm was cocked, and after sending a glare at Lucius Malfoy her eyes darted to the window before she locked them with Fudge’s.

“I think you know the answer, Madam Dressler,” Fudge replied. “You are hereby placed under arrest for the premeditated murder of Thomas Avery, and two counts of unauthorized usage of an Unforgivable Curse. You will come with us.”

Harry’s mind was spinning. His first instinct was to deny that it was even possible. He forced himself to focus. The reality was that it could be true, but that it hardly mattered at the moment. He waited for Daphne’s mental instructions.

I need a diversion, Harry. They aren’t even watching you. Take out the Aurors, and I’ll handle the rest. I know it’s a lot to ask of you…

I’ll do it, Harry thought back, his mental voice hard and determined.

He readied himself, taking notice of the positions of the two Aurors…and struck.

Launching himself sideways out of his chair, he used the first two spells that came to mind, and the result was a Slicing Curse that ripped through Dawlish’s shoulder, sending a spray of blood toward the students sitting close to his right and a powerful Striking Curse that smacked McGlinchy right in the jaw, knocking her off her feet. Daphne was in motion at the instant the first syllable was forming in Harry’s mouth, deftly covering the distance between the front of the classroom and the nearest window, which swung open with a whispered password. Daphne leapt through the opening, seemingly about to plummet dozens of meters to her death. A wild hex, probably from Fudge, hit the wall to the right of the window, dissipating harmlessly against the stone. They heard a grunt of exertion, and Daphne reappeared, straddling a racing broom. She shot off into the distance, completing her dramatic escape.

Harry swung back around, wand drawn, ready to face Fudge. It didn’t matter that he was the Minister of Magic, at that moment, he was just another threat, one he was determined to neutralize.

Time seemed to slow as the action unfolded before Lucius Abraxas Malfoy. In the space of less than ten seconds, a satisfying arrest had turned into a botched debacle. Dressler was gone, two Aurors were down at the hands of the Grey Maiden’s ward, and the enraged young man was now drawing a bead on the Minister himself, whose hand was limply reaching into his robes, as if he stood any chance against the Boy Who Lived in a duel. Most of the students were frozen in their seats, including his own son. Even Daphne Greengrass and Theodore Nott looked taken aback. Greengrass had been splattered by some of Dawlish’s blood, but didn’t seem to have taken notice.

As Potter turned toward the Minister, wand arm raised, Lucius Malfoy found himself unexpectedly facing the opportunity of a lifetime. Incredibly, Potter was presenting his back to the “ex”-Death Eater, as if he’d never even noticed he was there. Lucius was ready to strike. What he needed to decide in the split second before his window of opportunity closed, or Potter managed to inflict grievous harm on the Minister, was the nature of his blow. A Killing Curse, at this instant, would be a foolproof way of ridding his Master of his greatest foe. Lucius had performed that Unforgivable more times than he could remember. It would be as effortless as swatting a fly. He would not soon get this chance again.

And yet…

The rewards for killing Potter would undoubtedly be great. At the least, he would secure his position as the Dark Lord’s foremost servant, supplanting Bellatrix with his bold and dramatic action. The Dark Lord did not have access to a great deal of material wealth at the moment, but that was certain to change. The reward could be greater than everything he’d ever imagined…

But by casting a Killing Curse, here, in a room of Hogwarts students, many with powerful and influential family, not to mention in front of the Minister, and, however incapacitated, two Aurors, would be the end of his comfortable ride as the Minister’s puppet-master. Indeed, Fudge would have no choice but to declare Lucius an outlaw; even their relationship could not prevent that from happening. The murder of the Boy-Who-Lived by a supposedly reformed Death Eater could not go unpunished. He would lose his fortune, perhaps even his family, at least for the time being, his freedom, and if the Dark Lord failed to act faster than Dressler, his life and the lives of his family would be forfeit. The Malfoy line would die.

These thoughts rushed through his mind, at as Potter completed his pivot, a question formed in his mind.

Was that worth Potter’s life?

Out of time, Lucius stabbed with his wand, uttering an incantation, and watched a brilliant beam of scarlet energy lance out, catching Potter right between the shoulder blades. He collapsed to the ground, revealing the terrified figure of Cornelius Fudge, wand not fully drawn.

Lucius exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, and wearily advanced towards his fallen target. In the blink of an eye, that Mudblood Granger had gone from sitting like a statue in at her desk to crouched protectively over her friend, wand drawn. Normally, it wouldn’t have done much to deter Lucius; she was just a Mudblood, after all, no matter how book smart. But there was something about her at that moment that screamed danger, and Lucius froze. He begin to make his way over to the Minister, keeping a watchful eye on the two teenagers.

“Seize him!” Fudge cried. Dawlish, bleeding badly from a wound that cut across right arm and shoulder to his chest, along with the apparently-not-so-unconscious McGlinchy, stumbled forward, attempting to comply with their boss’s order. Granger threw Lucius another look, and the mystified Death Eater, still completely baffled as to why he was backing down at all, moved farther towards the back of the classroom.

“Back off,” the Mudblood said, her voice heavy with emotion. “I mean it. Don’t come a step closer.”

McGlinchy, despite her a swollen jaw and minor nosebleed, laughed at that. “Are you really threatening me, girl? Move aside before you get hurt.”

“I’m warning you,” Hermione said. “I don’t want to do this, but I will if I have no other choice.” She looked at the students sitting near to her. “Get out of the way. Now!” Those addressed, mostly Gryffindors, quickly obeyed.

“Miss Granger, you will allow my Aurors to arrest Potter or I’ll have your wand snapped,” Fudge growled.

“You won’t get the chance. Back off,” she told McGlinchy, who’d stepped closer.

“Try me, girl,” she hissed.

Hermione closed her eyes, holding out her left hand, palm facing them. Lucius felt the surge of power before it was even manifested, abruptly realizing the source of his unease as a massive fireball erupted from the pale skin of the younger witch’s left palm, blasting McGlinchy and Dawlish off their feet and incinerating just about everything in the space between them, including a pair of desks just to each side. The two Aurors hit the ground, severely burned, their robes aflame. Granger stood there defiantly, ready to unleash another inferno if the situation called for it.

Fudge’s eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets in comical fashion, he was so enraged by the turn of events. “You’ll pay for that, girl. You just assaulted two officers of the law. This is your last day in our world.”

“I do not believe that you have the authority to make such a judgment, Cornelius,” the voice of Dumbledore boomed from behind them. “I will ask you kindly to leave the grounds at once. The woman you came to arrest has fled. These two are students at this institution, and as such, fall under my authority.”

“Do not dare to order me around, Dumbledore,” Fudge snarled. “These two are criminals and they shall be dealt with accordingly.”

Dumbledore turned a harsh gaze to Lucius. “You have really fallen so far, Cornelius, that you keep filth such as this at your side?”

Cornelius drew himself up to his full height, which was considerably less than that of his adversary. “I am the Minister of Magic. I will not stand for this, this outrage! Two of my Aurors have been cut down by illicit magic, performed by the two in front of me. By my authority-”

“You have no authority here, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said in a low, almost menacing tone. “And what respect I may have once held for you has long since vanished. Get out. Now.”

“Potter used a Dark Curse, right in front of me,” Cornelius protested. “He used an illegal curse on an officer of the law in front of the Minister of Magic himself. And you expect me to let him go because you are asking politely?”

Lucius felt power permeate the room. Dumbledore’s fury had been aroused, and Fudge seemed comically oblivious of the terrific danger he was now in. “I am not asking, Cornelius. I am ordering you, as Headmaster of this school and thus holder of sole authority on its grounds, that you and your cadre leave my school at once. If you do not comply, I will be forced to remove you.”

“Are you threatening me, Dumbledore?” Fudge demanded. “For the last time, I am the Minister of-”

“It doesn’t matter if you are Merlin his-bloody-self,” Hermione cut in. “By Decree of the Wizengamot, in 1504, the Headmaster of Hogwarts has ultimate authority over his students and staff, even in a case involving the upper levels of the Ministry.”

Dumbledore smiled slightly. “Miss Granger has always had an excellent memory. And in this case, she is absolutely correct. Get out of my school.”

Fudge was turning red with rage. Dawlish, who had somehow gotten to his feet despite the gash across his right side and the horrible burns over much of his exposed skin, started tugging on the Minister’s arm.

Dumbledore spoke again, but this time, power crackled through his very words. “Hear me, Hogwarts! Banish these villains from the Hallowed Halls of My Forefathers!”

Lucius felt his very presence start to slip away, as if some powerful force was dragging him, mind and body, from the room. An instant later the world went black.