Owls and Ex-Ministers
The next few days were different for Harry. Though he couldn’t help but still feel sad about the loss of Sirius, he found that it was much more bearable if he just kept busy. He also felt considerably better after having let all his feelings out in the letter to Hermione.
First, he sat down and wrote to everyone else who had sent him a letter that summer. Ron’s had been especially long, as Harry had wanted to give a blow-by-blow account of the encounter with Malfoy. His only regret was that he couldn’t see the look on Ron’s face as he read it.
Next, Harry tackled the pile of unread Daily Prophets that had grown steadily larger in the corner of the room. He was surprised to find that quite a bit had been going on”even more than he had thought. The overall gist of it was that Voldemort had been very active and the wizarding world was in an absolute a state of panic. Nearly everyday brought a headline detailing some new attack.
Harry noticed something odd about all these attacks, however. They all seemed to be aimed at Muggles”football games, train stations, and rock concerts especially seemed to be targets”and strangely enough there were very few deaths or injuries. It was as if Voldemort and the Death Eaters just wanted to toy around with public fear.
The papers also mentioned Dumbledore quite frequently, and always as though he were some hero that could make the whole mess with Voldemort go away. Harry found his own name brought up almost as often, and in much the same way. Considering the type of coverage he and Dumbledore had received the previous year, Harry found this sudden turn of opinion sickening.
One front page article from a week previous cheered him up though. The moving black and white photograph showed a terrified Cornelius Fudge running for his life from”Harry couldn’t quite believe it”a giant, flying monkey. There were dozens and dozens of wizards and witches in the background (most of whom were pointing and laughing). It appeared to have been taken in the main lobby of the Ministry building. Completely baffled, Harry read the article.
Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic for the past 6 years, has resigned following intense public pressure after the discovery of You-Know-Who’s return. Last year Fudge continually denied rumors that You-Know-Who had returned, until several eye-witnesses, including Fudge himself, witnessed his appearance at the Ministry building itself (for a full account see page 4).
In addition to Fudge, several upper-level staff members have also been dismissed, including Head of International Relations Wulfric Dalthrop and Senior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge, who enjoyed a brief stint as Hogwarts Headmistress last year. In a rather fitting ceremony, Ex-Minister Fudge was chased from his office by a giant, fiery monkey (which bore a strange resemblance to Fudge himself), emitting strange grunting sounds as the terrified Ex-Minister ran for his life. This strange display was cheered on by close to a hundred onlookers, an angry mob which had assembled to physically oust Fudge from office but was beaten to it by the giant monkey. The origin of the said monkey is currently unknown.
While under current legislation the public does not have authority to oust the Minister of Magic, the Wizengamot is expected to make the dismissal official later today.
Meanwhile, many are calling for Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to replace Fudge as Minister of Magic immediately. Dumbledore, who was the target of a lengthy smear campaign directed by Ex-Minister Fudge last year, has yet to comment.
Harry laughed out loud as he ripped off the front page of the paper and hung it on the wall. Fudge had spent the last year trying to convince the public that he and Dumbledore were crazy, and it was good to see him finally get what he deserved. That part about the giant monkey was a little confusing though…
Once he had read through the Daily Prophets, Harry got out his old school books and began to study. Using a small stick roughly the size of his own wand that he had found in the backyard, he practiced wand movements and incantations, thinking if he couldn’t use magic he could at least practice it.
On top of the letter writing, studying, and practicing spells, Harry finished each day by sitting on his bed, taking some deep breaths and trying his best to clear his mind of emotion. This was a practice that Snape had assigned him the year before when he was supposed to be learning Occlumency, but Harry had never really tried too hard at. It had been difficult to put aside his feelings at the time (he still felt a surge of anger every time he thought of Snape), but now, seeing the importance of learning Occlumency, Harry was determined to do everything he could.
The truth was he felt responsible for what had happened in the Department of Mysteries. A pang of guilt and regret hit him every time he thought of it. If he had really worked on Occlumency like he was supposed to, Voldemort never would have given him that phony vision, he never would have shown up at the Department of Mysteries, and Sirius would still be alive today. Then there was the fact that his friends had been willing to follow him, had been willing to risk their own lives to help Harry, and he had nearly gotten them killed because he was too stupid to realize it was a trick. He would never, NEVER, do anything that stupid again.
Harry also decided he might as well join the Dursley’s for meals. It was obvious that Uncle Vernon preferred the brooding, morose Harry who stayed shut up in his room over the new Harry who joined them for meals. Knowing this made Harry want to show up even more, for, despite his annoyance with Harry, Uncle Vernon did his best to make forced, semi-polite conversation for fear of Mad-Eye Moody walking through the door and turning his first-born son into a goat. Moody’s threat at King’s Cross Station at the end of term worked like a charm, and Harry loved to see Uncle Vernon squirm:
“So, did you have a nice day?” Uncle Vernon asked Harry over his kidney pie one evening. His tone of voice made it obvious that the niceness of Harry’s day was the last thing he cared about.
“Oh yeah. I got loads done today.” Harry replied brightly.
“Really?” Uncle Vernon said with a smirk. “Like what?”
“Well, once I finished my chores I practiced magic with an old stick I found in the backyard, then I thought I would see if I couldn’t saw one of Mrs. Figg’s cats in half.” Harry replied casually. “Turns out it’s not nearly as easy as that bloke on the TV makes it out to be.” He added despairingly, shaking his head.
Uncle Vernon choked on the potato he had just put in his mouth, and after hacking it back onto his plate glared at Harry.
“It’s for my school talent show.” He added, loving the fact that Uncle Vernon was never sure if he was joking or not.
One Saturday morning, however, Uncle Vernon was pushed too far. The family had gathered for breakfast (minus Dudley, who had gone to a “slumber party” at a friend’s place the night before) and Uncle Vernon was in the middle of a rant about a tax hike he had read about in paper.
Harry was just about to grab some bacon and go up to his room to study when there was a tremendous CRACK, followed by the sound of shattered glass.
Uncle Vernon was so startled he jumped in his chair, arm sweeping the table in front of him and sending his plate of pancakes to the floor in a loud crash. Aunt Petunia shrieked.
Looking around for the source of the crash, Harry saw a large, brown owl fluttering around in the sink, apparently trying to orientate itself. He had never seen this owl before, and it looked much bigger than a typical Hogwarts owls.
“AHHHGHRR! I’ve told you, NO OWLS AT MY HOUSE!” Uncle Vernon bellowed at Harry. He was breathing deeply, his right hand clenched over his chest as though he were about to have a heart attack.
“Like I can just stop them! Honestly…” Harry retorted in exasperation as he walked towards the owl. It was quite a sight: The entire window had been destroyed, lying in broken fragments all over the sink and floor. The owl appeared to be all right; it had just hopped onto the rim of the sink and stood staring at Harry with its large brown eyes. Harry noticed the owl was carrying a large letter.
Uncle Vernon spoke, “Well if you would kindly advise your little friends not to send their great, dirty birds smashing through my kitchen window in the future, I would be very…appreciative.” The words were very slow and deliberate, as if it were all he could do to keep from yelling at Harry.
“I’ll do that.” Harry snapped back. He was just as confused as Uncle Vernon; usually the owls came to his bedroom window. He was just reached out to remove the letter from the owl’s leg when it gave a loud hoot, hopped off the counter and swooped away from Harry towards…Uncle Vernon?
Aunt Petunia gasped and Uncle Vernon flinched. The owl dropped the letter at his feet, swooped back through the kitchen past Harry, shot out the open window and was gone.
A tense silence followed as the three of them looked down at the letter. From his vantage point Harry could just make out the writing:
The Kitchen
Number 4 Privet Drive
Uncle Vernon, clearly ruffled, hesitated before bending over and picking up the letter. Aunt Petunia looked extremely apprehensive. Harry remembered the Howler she had received from Dumbledore last summer. Was this letter from Dumbledore too? Why would he be writing Uncle Vernon? Maybe it was from Moody, just to remind Uncle Vernon he was watching. An enormous owl unexpectedly smashing through the kitchen window would definitely be his style.
Uncle Vernon opened the letter and began to read. Aunt Petunia craned her long horse neck over his shoulder to join him. They both read silently, frowning, then, after a few seconds, simultaneously gasped in disbelief. After the gasp the two read on furiously, Uncle Vernon’s face slowly turning purple and Aunt Petunia’s mouth open in pure astonishment.
By this point Harry was extremely curious to know what would merit such a reaction out of his Aunt and Uncle. It was obviously about him…Maybe he was leaving. A feeling of hope and excitement burst in his chest.
“What does it say?” He asked, his voice ringing through the silence.
Uncle Vernon put down the letter, which Aunt Petunia hurriedly picked up and continued reading, her eyes darting back and forth. Uncle Vernon looked shocked and somewhat angry. He slowly turned his head to look at Aunt Petunia, who had just finished the letter and looked back at her husband, mouth still hanging open.
Feeling that this wasn’t a good time to be ignored, Harry spoke up even louder. “What does it SAY?”
Still looking at Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon’s face twisted into a sneer of anger. “Why, of all the…” his voice lowered to a growl that Harry couldn’t quite understand. Aunt Petunia, who was even more shocked at her husband’s reaction, spoke back in quick, hurried tones. The two went back and forth, all the time Uncle Vernon looking angrier and Petunia more confused.
Harry couldn’t stand it anymore.
“WHAT DOES IT SAY?” he demanded.
Uncle Vernon looked up at Harry, huffed, then, holding out a sealed envelope smaller than the first, replied, “It says, boy…that I am to give you this.”