Disclaimer: The fine tapestry of plot and characters belongs to J.K. Rowling. I am merely pulling threads at will and weaving my own design in counterpoint to hers.
.Chapter 71
The Bureaucratic Response
The majestic towers of Hogwarts wavered against the deepening cobalt sky of late afternoon. The overwhelming sense of relief that washed over Harry was so strong that he felt his knees start to give way.
“Hang on, mate, we’re almost there,” came the hearty voice of Reggie Smithwick. A few seconds later his face swam into view. In a softer tone, he added, “I can take him from here, Tonks. I’m sure you’re anxious to go on ahead and see about Remus.”
Tonks’ response was inaudible to Harry as was most of Smithwick’s reply; the only word he could make out was “injuries.”
“Ron and Hermione, too?” Ginny asked, although Harry could not find her face among those floating in front of him.
“Yes.”
“Wouldn’t it just be easier if I hoisted him over my shoulder?” Smithwick ventured.
“Not in this case,” Shacklebolt cautioned in an undertone. “We need to keep him vertical in case there’s any residual venom… There’s a distinct possibility it may be laced with Dark Magic.”
An involuntary shudder overtook Harry’s body at the mention of those ominous words: Dark Magic. It was just too ironic, he thought to himself, they’d curtailed Voldemort’s diabolical plans for cheating death and yet the bastard had found a way to spread even more evil with his dying breath.
“What’re all these people doing here?” Ginny’s awed voice drifted on the invisible wind.
“Ah, yes, the honor guard,” Smithwick acknowledged. “It was much the same when the others returned.”
It took considerable effort for Harry to focus his eyes enough to distinguish the wide-eyed faces rippling in serpentine fashion along their route. It felt like the castle itself had been relocated to the top of one of the purple hills lining the lake.
“How could they have known?” Shacklebolt breathed with concern. “It was just a routine field trip.”
“But it didn’t turn out that way, did it?” Smithwick observed dryly. “Word spread like wildfire once the first message arrived from Hermione, to be followed shortly by Ron’s arrival, looking as if he’s been attacked by a roving band of banshees.”
“Banshees?” Ginny gaped incredulously.
“The rumor mill has a very active imagination,” Smithwick admitted. “It’s next to impossible to keep anything quiet with those ghosts floating about unhindered.”
“Don’t remind me,” came the cheery tones of Professor Sprout who joined their procession. “That Sir Nicholas’ mouth is bigger than the gash across his throat. Then the Fat Friar gets into the act “ he’s always looking to grab a bit of attention for himself… Thank goodness for the reticence of the Bloody Baron and the Grey Lady, or I don’t know what I’d do!”
They must have reached the front steps as the air felt downright cold in the shadows. It was too difficult to try to keep any of the shifting images in proper focus, so Harry just allowed the familiar hands to guide his stumbling feet.
“Is it true?” McGonagall’s voice inquired wistfully. “I didn’t know whether or not to believe Tonks; she was understandably distracted.”
“Yes,” Shacklebolt replied curtly. “But the details will need to wait, Minerva.”
“I understand,” she issued in her usual brisk tones. “You should contact the Minister as soon as possible, though. You’re welcome to use my office.”
“The rest of us can get Harry up to the Hospital Wing,” Professor Sprout assured them.
All day, the weather in the Channel Islands had been fickle: stormy and calm in turns, the sea choppy one moment and then retreating to a glassy surface like a piece of cloth being pulled at both ends.
A light wind caressed the stalwart grasses growing in the cracks of the large granite boulder that jutted majestically from the sea. It was a solitary sentinel, far from the main islands, a bane to vessels that strayed from their usual lanes only to end up with sizable holes in their hulls. Only the constant wash of waves kept the rock from accumulating a litter of splintered wood in stark warning to the unwary.
The cries of the gulls echoed distantly from the larger islands where they maintained their nests. Often driven out to the rock to look for any rare treats the sea may have deposited, they were just as often disappointed when the rock was washed bare. As the late afternoon breeze cleared a tendril of stray mist, a nondescript form could be seen huddling on the rock. Looking from the distance like nothing more than a pile of rags, it was nonetheless the rarest treasure of all: a living creature.
Desperately, the man clung to the rock with trembling hands, clutching it feverishly to his body, only too aware of just how few such havens existed in the sea. He licked the salty spray from his cracked and bleeding lips, fervently yearning for some fresh water to ease his thirst. He scurried away from the gentle lapping of the soft waves around his ankles as if afraid of being sucked relentlessly back into the ocean. With an anguished cry that scattered the inquisitive gulls, he flopped his shapeless form onto its back, tightly clutching a severed forearm to his chest.
Deplorable English weather, he thought; Lupin had been right as usual. He was long due for a holiday in a warmer climate. Fondly, he remembered the warm sands of Egypt when he had visited them with his former jailors. He had been freed of those shackles, re-pledging his loyalty to a great and powerful Master instead. A Master who could easily reassign him to one of the insurgent cells in a more hospitable climate. Perhaps Africa or the Middle East; it was too much to hope for a posting to Indonesia.
Well, why not Indonesia? he mused. He’d cut off the head of the opposition, left the remaining Order members and school children to fend for themselves without their leader. Led them to be funneled mercilessly into his Master’s long awaited trap. There was no reason he shouldn’t have the pick of his next assignment in a tropical paradise. For once, Bella could not claim credit for his achievement. She had railed against him that very morning, adamant in her belief that he would destroy their plan entirely by revealing his presence too soon.
With the curl of a satisfied smile, he gingerly touched the stump of his severed arm to the writhing snake and skull tattoo that decorated the flesh of his other arm. Soon, very soon, he would be basking in the presence of his Master, his silver arm restored to its full glory. He allowed himself a small daydream of how he would revel in the day’s accomplishments, then wondered what was taking his rescuers so long. He pressed the tattoo with greater force, ignoring the accompanying agony that burst forth from his injured arm.
In the far distance, the mournful horn of a vessel sounded its call. Was it a rescue vessel patrolling the waters in search of hapless survivors? He dashed the errant thought from his mind. He had no need of rescue “ by Muggles, no less. No indeed, he had friends in high places. Once again, he wondered why it was taking so long for his call to be answered.
Almost without warning, the wind kicked up its heels, churning the sea around the boulder into a milky froth. Cold, fat raindrops fell with renewed vigor on the mousy man’s features as the undulating waves on the horizon made it seem as if his entire world were rocking. As the waves crashed over him, he was finding it more and more difficult to hold his position atop the flat rock with only one good hand. In the small respite between breakers, the man transformed himself into a small, dingy rat and used the claws on his three good legs to anchor himself more firmly onto his little island.
As the sky darkened ominously, the waves took malevolent delight in assaulting the boulder repeatedly. As he felt the pull of the ocean systematically dislodge his little rat nails from the porous rock, he wondered what had delayed his friends for so long.
Harry felt himself being propped on a straight backed chair, the screech of metal alerting him that a lamp was being wheeled alongside. The added warmth to the skin of his forearm reminded him vaguely of the excruciating pain he had recently endured. But once he consumed the oddly tasting draught being pressed to his lips, even that memory receded and he felt himself floating.
“Harry, Harry,” Madam Pomfrey’s brisk voice seemed to jolt him back into his body sharply. “You need to stay with us. I’ll move the light away so it doesn’t hurt your eyes so much.”
With great effort, he opened his eyelids a minimal amount, looking down at a stranger’s bleached white arm through his eyelashes. Dispassionately, he watched the ragged bandage being slowly unwound from two small punctures which immediately pooled with blood once again. Faint spidery lines indicated where the wound had already healed from being sliced magically to draw out the venom. The reawakening of a peculiar throbbing pain reminded him that he was staring at his own arm. Involuntarily, he shivered as icy cold fingers stretched towards his shoulder only to be replaced, almost immediately, by burning hot flames.
Madam Pomfrey deftly deposited the blood-soaked cloth in a metal pan and whispered to her assistant to take it directly to Slughorn for further analysis. “Kingsley Shacklebolt should have already provided him with the venomous ring,” she cautioned. “Touch nothing, it’s rife with Dark Magic.”
Harry hardly noticed as his arm was carefully rewrapped in a fresh bandage. He was too entranced with the small hand Ginny had rested on his knee to provide him with a bit of reassurance. He followed the trail of her arm, wincing inwardly as he noted how many deep scratches were present. He smiled weakly when he reached her face, briefly breaking through the cloud of concern he found there.
“See if you can get him to eat this,” Pomfrey urged Ginny as she placed a huge chunk of darkest chocolate into her other hand. “I need to see to Neville and then you’re next, so don’t wander off.”
Timidly, Harry took the small bites from her as she deposited them directly onto his tongue. He let them melt languidly against the roof of his mouth to savor the maximum flavor. It wasn’t long before he was feeling surprisingly better, despite the throbbing soreness in his forearm. He took the remainder of the chocolate from her in his left hand and ate as much as he could before the foil wrapper got in the way. He looked for Ginny, but she was no longer sitting by his side as before.
“Here let me help,” Lupin’s familiar voice issued from the bed to his left.
Harry’s eyes looked greedily in that direction, momentarily forgetting all about the chocolate. “Remus!” he exclaimed, then laughed, then caught himself as his throat grew tight.
“In the flesh.” Lupin grinned wickedly. “Thanks for sending the posse after me.”
“Could I have done anything less?” Harry countered, letting an idiot’s grin wash over his face.
“Here, have some of this,” Lupin offered as he traded a small unwrapped slab of lighter chocolate for the last of Harry’s semi-sweet bark.
“This is wonderful,” Harry crooned through chocolate lips. “How did you manage to get the good stuff?”
“Somebody told Poppy that chocolate with ground filberts is my favorite.” Lupin grinned sheepishly as he inclined his head in Tonks’ direction.
“Glad to see you’re feeling better, Harry.” Tonks smiled from the other side of Lupin’s bed.
A small commotion at the entrance to the Hospital Wing indicated that Luna had come in search of Neville. The Headmistress permitted her entry, but stressed to Neville that he was allowed to speak of his role in solving the Conundrum only. Other matters would have to wait until the Minister made an official announcement. Neville nodded his head happily as he drew Luna towards a small sitting area on the far side of the room.
Harry heard the others long before they entered through the frosted double doors to the Hospital Wing. Ron and Hermione in the throes of one of their animated discussions.
“Just be glad I still had my lion amulet pinned to my collar or I don’t know how we would have gotten into our rooms!” Hermione fussed. “You’ll have to explain to the Headmistress how you thought using such a small item as a tie tack was a workable alternative…”
Harry looked down at his blood-stained shirt and caught a glint of his tiny lion, still gripped firmly to the first layer of his tie.
“Just be glad I knew this short-cut back!” Ron returned. “Or you would’ve had to deal with the long phalanx of hands held out to touch you again.”
“That was a bit creepy,” Hermione acknowledged. “But at least our presence next to Remus kept him from wincing in pain every time his stretcher was jostled…”
The doors swung open to admit Hermione and then Ron, their arms loaded down with folded school robes. Catching sight of Harry, they raced over to welcome him back.
“Did you really?” Ron whispered with eyes like saucers.
“I heard Ginny practically brought down the roof…” Hermione added in awe.
Harry only smiled wider and nodded like his head was on a string. “You look a bit scraped up yourselves,” he noted.
“Minor stuff,” Ron acknowledged. “Limestone and granite cliffs.”
“The Headmistress made us change into other clothes the second we got back,” Hermione supplied. “Said our previous ensembles were much too fashionably torn for Hogwarts standards.”
“I can’t wait to trade tales with all of you,” Harry smiled as Ginny squeezed in next to him and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “But I need to let everything soak in a bit first.”
“Rightly so,” Tonks agreed. “A good story needs to age a bit, work its rough edges out in your mind...”
“Just one little preview,” Lupin urged in a conspiratorial whisper. “Is it true you suggested to Voldemort that he tie party balloons to the mailbox of an estate being protected by the Fidelius Charm?”
It was difficult to keep track of everyone’s reactions, but Harry was virtually certain the sharp gasp came from Hermione, the stifled giggle from Ginny, and it was Ron’s voice that murmured, “Wicked!”
Harry flashed his best smile and shrugged. “Told you it would be better with the laugh track.”
“Excuse me,” the Headmistress announced softly from the foot of the bed. “I think you should know, Remus, that in light of the circumstances, Kingsley has contacted Scrimgeour and they are meeting in my office.”
“Thank you, Minerva.”
“But Remus, shouldn’t it have been your privilege to contact the Minister?” Hermione inquired pointedly.
“My task, you mean?” Lupin scoffed. “No, Kingsley and I arranged it this way long ago. While he was still a relative unknown in the Auror Department, Scrimgeour’s candid comments made it abundantly clear that he considers all of those afflicted like me to be no more than outlaws. One step removed from Death Eaters “ if even that. Trust me; it’s better this way.”
Heavy footsteps caused Harry to glance towards the back of the long room. He swiftly concluded that the Headmistress should not have worried about Neville speaking too plainly. Clearly, conversation was the last thing on Luna’s mind at present.
The source of the commotion became clear when Madam Pomfrey hurried towards them with a worried looking Professor Slughorn in tow. Immediately, she bore down on Harry.
“Horace has returned a very disturbing analysis on the poisoned ring--” she began.
“If I might,” Slughorn suggested solemnly. As Pomfrey acquiesced with a curt nod, he continued, “It’s very curious as the object has resisted analysis at every turn. Intoning the standard Revelio spell caused it to start issuing a strange violet smoke “ even though it was suspended in a solution. Then right before my eyes, the metal melted into an amorphous puddle.”
Slughorn held up a glass jar in which a grey lump rested on the bottom. As Slughorn turned it in the light so they could all see, Harry distinguished a brief flash of the mesmerizing green and red eyes blinking up at him. They elicited the strangest sensation in the pit of his stomach, but the feeling was gone almost instantly.
“Could you get any sort of reading on the poison?” Tonks asked anxiously.
“All sublimated with the smoke it seems,” Slughorn replied. “And the cloth bandage was saturated with Harry’s blood, but no residue of the poison.”
“You understand why the professor was unable to prepare an antidote, Harry,” Pomfrey added.
“But I thought the wound was laced with Dark Magic,” Harry stammered as the alarming implications of a poison which resisted analysis dawned on him.
“Probably so,” Pomfrey concurred, “but it appears that by treating it like an ordinary snakebite, the Order members kept the poison from entering your bloodstream. Without their quick thinking, we might not be having this conversation right now.”
“Would you like this as a souvenir, Harry?” Slughorn asked with a raised eyebrow as held up the jar.
“Absolutely, not!” Harry returned with a slight grimace. “I’d thank you to keep that…thing…as far away from me as humanly possible!”
“I believe they’re ready for you upstairs,” the Headmistress announced as she ushered Neville towards the others gathered at Lupin’s bedside. “The rest of the Order members have already assembled in my office.” In response to their blank stares, she started to hand out school robes and urged, “You don’t want to keep the Minister of Magic waiting, do you?”
“Not just yet, Harry,” Madam Pomfrey cautioned as she pushed him gently back down into the chair. She performed a cursory wave of her wand over the bandaged arm still propped on the side table. “Does it still tingle?” she asked him directly.
It was as if icy-hot pin pricks were dancing the conga along his entire forearm, Harry thought to himself as squeezed his eyes shut and nodded.
“There’s probably still some residual elements of Dark Magic present. Keep nibbling on the dark chocolate,” she ordered as she stuffed an unopened bar into the pocket of the school robe the Headmistress handed her. “It’s a risk to knit your skin together magically unless all the contagion is gone. You’ll just have to limit your arm movements as much as possible to minimize the bleeding.”
Deftly, she helped Harry shrug into his robes and then looped a narrow sling over his head in which she rested his wrist gingerly. The slight movement brought the sharp sting of tears to Harry’s eyes, but the extra support helped the soreness to melt away slowly.
“Ginny, please see that he remains seated upstairs. He’s still going to be rather unsteady from all the blood loss,” Pomfrey instructed as she gave Ginny a reassuring smile. “I gave him a double dose of Blood Replenishing Draught, but even magic doesn’t work that quickly.”
“I’ll use force if I have to,” Ginny quipped with a wicked smile directed at Harry that just dared him to try.
“Luna, you’ll keep us company, won’t you?” Tonks invited from where she was still seated next to Lupin. Then turning serious eyes towards McGonagall, she implored, “Minerva, please make my excuses.”
“Naturally, dear,” the Headmistress soothed. “No one would question you remaining at your husband’s bedside under the circumstances.”
Harry hesitated as he grasped that Lupin would not be joining them, either. Noticing his ambivalence, the Headmistress leaned in and whispered, “Despite your own priorities, Harry, you don’t have the luxury of remaining behind and neither do I. You don’t want the Minister to think you hold him in contempt … even if you do.”
“Come,” Madam Pomfrey intoned as she herded them all towards her office. “There’s a magical lift in here. I’m sure the Headmistress won’t mind as she and Ron seem to be the only things keeping Harry upright at the moment.”
Neville quickly took over for McGonagall as Harry felt himself floating forward. In the few seconds it took the lift to deposit them in the Headmistress’ circular office, Harry’s feet had forgotten how to walk and he was stumbling at every turn. With an imperious flick of her wand, McGonagall commanded a sturdy wooden armchair and helped to settle Harry firmly before offering apologies to the Minister.
Rufus Scrimgeour was seated like an emperor behind the Headmistress’ expansive desk, a long roll of parchment unrolled before him where he had obviously been making notes. Immediately to his side was his personal assistant, Percy Weasley, looking puffed up with importance as he, too, had been writing copiously. Around the perimeter of the room, the various Order members who had participated in the day’s skirmish stood in various stages of disarray, many decorated with a multitude of scrapes and bruises as well as numerous bandages.
The tall figure of Kingsley Shacklebolt stood in the Minister’s direct line of sight, his black boots planted firmly on the slate tiles surrounding the unlit hearth. Like a hawk, he scrutinized Scrimgeour’s every movement with palatable skepticism as he leaned casually against the gilded mantelpiece.
“I see we’re all together then,” the Minister intoned as he removed his reading glasses and placed them carefully on the desk before him. The lines of worry had deepened throughout his face in the year since Harry had last seen him. His hair, still a leonine mane, was almost entirely silver. With an economical smile, he looked at each of the Order members in turn, slowly surveying the entire room. Almost imperceptibly, he nodded when he got to Harry, but Harry had painted his features with an inscrutable mask worthy of Lupin himself.
“I believe the first order of business is hearty congratulations all around,” Scrimgeour began. “It seems that your small group of…freedom fighters…has rid the Ministry -- all of wizardkind, actually “ of a major thorn in its side. Mr. Shacklebolt has briefly outlined all of your exploits today, and I must say, I’m quite impressed. I understand the captives are being turned over to an Enforcement Squad from the Auror Department even as we speak. As for those who were slain, Kingsley assures me that all bodies were left in situ for verification.
“I take it we have no indication the Fidelius Charm has been lifted from the estate yet?” Scringeour directed his inquiry directly at Shacklebolt.
“Not yet, Minister,” he replied. “But irregularities were reported by our watchers throughout the day. We believe it’s only a matter of time.”
“Well, yes,” acknowledged the Minister as he cleared his throat. “Then our Department of Magical Catastrophes may need to call upon the services of…” He searched his notes feverishly.
“Neville Longbottom,” Percy supplied in a loud whisper.
“Of course, Mr. Longbottom,” Scrimgeour continued. “I won’t demand you assist us this evening. Tomorrow morning will be soon enough. I know you’ve been through a harrowing experience today.”
“Thank you, sir,” Neville stammered, stepping forward briefly from the shadows. “I would be more than happy to assist you, if that’s what you require.”
Scrimgeour flashed the briefest of smile in Neville’s direction before returning his attention to his notes. “Do you have the names of everyone present?” he asked, turning towards Percy.
“Yes, Minister.”
“Any other participants we’re omitting?” Scrimgeour asked, his gaze sweeping the room.
“Excuse me, Minister,” the Headmistress offered humbly. “Nymphadora Tonks is sitting with her injured husband in the Hospital Wing.”
“Understandably.” Scimgeour nodded as Percy scribbled frantically. “She was instrumental in…” He readjusted his glasses on his face and scanned the parchment before him. “That’s right, she dispatched Voldemort’s giant snake and was part of the team that confronted Bellatrix Lestrange. I remember her vividly from when I headed the Auror Deparment.” Sticking his chest out mightily, he added, “Nothing’s official, naturally, but I expect each and every one of you to receive Orders of Merlin, first class.”
There were a few expressions of awe, but clearly the reaction was more lackluster than the Minister anticipated. The silence deepened as he looked at the wooden faces lining the room.
Slowly unfolding his body, Shacklebolt stood a little straighter as he off-handedly reminded the Minister, “What about Remus Lupin?”
Scrimgeour’s sharp look in Shacklebolt’s direction was all the indication Harry needed to conclude that Lupin’s very existence was an affront to the Minister. Quickly, Scrimgeour covered it up with a cough and searched frantically through his notes. “Well, yes… but I understand Lupin wasn’t present at the showdown with the Death Eaters, was he?”
“Neither were Ron and Hermione,” Alastor Moody growled, “but I see you’re including them, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes.” The Minister hesitated as if he were suddenly perplexed. Percy leaned over and whispered urgently in his ear as Scrimgeour nodded. Looking up at the assembled faces, he added with conviction, “Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were directly involved in the destruction of the Horcruxes “ along with Harry, of course. They were instrumental in laying the groundwork that allowed for Lord Voldemort to be dispatched once and for all… I understand Lupin was excluded from the search and destruction process as well.”
“Yes, but--” Hermione began, but the words died in her throat when Scrimgeour turned his icy glare in her direction.
“With all due respect, Minister,” the Headmistress interceded softly, “Remus Lupin has led the Order since Dumbledore’s passing. He deserves some credit for planning today’s activities and training the younger team members.”
“I will certainly take that under advisement,” the Minister promised, hoping that would close the matter.
Emboldened, Bill Weasley added, “How far do you really think today’s operation would have gotten if Remus hadn’t drawn Peter Pettigrew to his death? They would have been captured before they’d even reached the main house!”
Murmurs of support could be heard in the background, but they were soon stilled by a wave of the Minister’s hand.
“Yes, the problem of a dead man actually having been alive all this time. The records concerning Pettigrew are a mass of contradictions. Although, I suppose there are certainly enough credible witnesses who can attest to having seen Pettigrew alive that it’s irrefutable… Tell me, did Lupin actually kill Pettigrew?”
“His account lists it as an accidental death, presumably by drowning,” McGonagall admitted.
“You see the problem then…” Scrimgeour held his hands out plaintively in a blatant attempt to win favor.
Harry couldn’t help but note the fundamental difference between the two men: Lupin claimed it as a point of honor that he had not actually killed Pettigrew; Scrimgeour saw it as a mark of failure.
In response to the impassive faces, Scrimgeour offered, “Like I said, I will take it under advisement… Certainly the loyalty of--”
“It’s because he’s a werewolf, isn’t it?” Ron glowered at the Minister, angrily shrugging Hermione’s restraining hand from his arm. “I will not hold my tongue,” he hissed at her.
The Minister turned an impassive face in their direction. “I can’t deny that’s an issue… I’m not saying it’s insurmountable, mind you … I just can’t promise anything without the express approval of the Wizengamot…”
Ron turned away in disgust.
“If I may say something,” Hestia Jones offered from the other side of the room. “Other than Harry and Neville, here,” she flashed a warm smile at each of them, “no one has lost more to Voldemort than Remus. To discount the many years he has toiled to bring down the Death Eaters is an insult to all of us!”
Murmurs of agreement and support surged through the ranks.
“Hardly the words you wished to hear, Minister,” Moody grumbled. “But true nonetheless.”
“Speaking only for myself,” Shacklebolt ventured, “I don’t feel comfortable accepting any commendation from the Ministry if Lupin is excluded.”
“Hear, hear!”
“Leave me out, too!”
“”meaningless.”
It was clear Shacklebolt did indeed speak for everyone present, Harry noted wryly. As usual, Lupin’s assessment of Scrimgeour had been right on the mark. He quickly shoved his thoughts aside as he felt the Minister’s gaze swivel pointedly in his direction.
“You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet, Harry,” Scrimgeour observed silkily. “Considering you’re clearly the man of the hour, I’d very much like to hear you weigh in.”
Harry looked at all the encouraging faces turned in his direction and compared them to the plastic smile that never reached Scrimgeour’s eyes. A thousand examples of how much Lupin had meant to him “ meant to all of them, really “ streamed through his mind. Suddenly, he didn’t feel like sullying any of those memories by sharing them with the narrow-minded bureaucrat poised before him.
In the end, he rose shakily to his feet and let the simplicity of his words speak for themselves. “I would be nothing without Lupin.”
Were it not for Ginny’s protective arm around his waist, he might never have seated himself back down with any dignity. Yet Harry did not break eye contact with the Minister.
“Then you stand with the others,” Scrimgeour returned acrimoniously.
“I’m only sorry I didn’t say it first.”
Scrimgeour turned a beseeching gaze towards McGonagall, but her face was as stern as Harry had ever seen it. Helplessly, he turned towards Percy who immediately began to advise him tersely, glancing covertly at the rest of the assemblage.
“If I may offer a point of order,” Hermione intoned sweetly from Harry’s right. She waited patiently for all heads to swivel in her direction, the last being Percy who took a step back from the Minister’s chair.
With the doors to the golden reading room standing open behind her, Hermione was wreathed in the ethereal glow of a rosy summer sunset. From where he was sitting, Harry could just make out the title of the thick tome she held open in her arms. Vaguely, he was reminded of something Professor Binns had mentioned in the stultifying confines of the History of Magic class.
Hermione waited until the Minister himself acknowledged her presence with a condescending, “Certainly, dear, everyone is welcome to contribute.”
Into the pregnant silence before her, Hermione volunteered, “During the Goblin Rebellion of 1612, a battlefield commendation was issued to Cedric the Uncouth, in recognition of his assistance with tracking down one of the main insurgent cells--”
“That’s irrelevant to today’s situation!” Percy barked with disdain. “The Ministry of Magic was not established until the following century. We’re not bound by the barbaric customs of previous governing bodies.”
“Actually, you are,” Hermione returned with complete assurance. “When the Wizard’s Council was disbanded in favor of the Ministry of Magic, many of the provisos of the prior body were adopted seamlessly. Among those was the section that granted the current head of the governing body, i.e. the Minister of Magic, the sole authority to grant battlefield commendations without the prior approval of any other division.”
“I’ve never heard of those provisions being enforced,” Scrimgeour replied in an unperturbed tone. “Is this true, Weasley?”
With brisk efficiency, Percy crossed over to where Hermione was standing and briefly scanned the paragraphs over her shoulder. The self-satisfied smirk had melted from his face by the time his eyes reached the bottom of the page.
“She may actually be correct, Minister,” Percy offered humbly, swallowing nervously. “The Minister retains such authority, even if it has never been invoked in modern times.”
“This is hardly a battlefield,” Scrimgeour protested.
“Yes, Minister,” Percy replied as he searched feverishly through a small volume of regulations he pulled from his pocket. “But the definition of a battlefield commendation is one that is given on the day of the event and in the immediate area of the event. A medical facility where those involved are recuperating would definitely qualify.”
“Checkmate to Hermione,” Ron muttered under his breath.
Harry was just thankful one of them had been able to stay awake enough to take notes in History of Magic class.
The Headmistress silently approached the desk where Scrimgeour and Percy were conferring among themselves with escalating fervor.
“If you’ll allow a bit of guidance from an old lady,” she offered in the soft tones she generally employed with small children. She took the startled looks they turned on her as permission. “If you fail to grant commendations to the Order members, the public is likely to assume you and your administration were supporters of Voldemort instead.”
“And it wouldn’t do much good for your image to hold an awards ceremony with no participants,” Moody put forth from the sidelines.
“Yes, naturally, you’re all correct,” the Minister replied with a flustered movement of his hand. “Lupin will be included.”
“It doesn’t work that way in the case of a battlefield commendation,” Ron declared with authority. “You have to speak the words now. Later, it will no longer qualify.”
Scrimgeour turned another lost look towards his assistant, but Percy nodded that Ron was essentially correct.
“Before you visit the Hospital Wing, Minister,” the Headmistress beseeched, “would you please address a few words to the other students who have been assembled in the Great Hall? Their classmates who left ostensibly on field trip his morning returned bloodied and torn without any explanation. They watched woodenly as one of their favorite teachers was carried back on a stretcher. I’ve been hesitant to release any information prior to an official announcement from the Ministry, but everyone is understandably distraught -- teachers included.”
“Of course, Minerva.” Scrimgeour rose from the desk with his politician’s smile intact. “A few words to calm their worst fears is the least I can do.”
“Let me escort you, then,” she offered majestically. “I know a few shortcuts.”
Very clever, Harry thought to himself, she will see to it that his ego has been massaged a bit before she steers him to perform his onerous duty to Lupin.
Popping a generous chunk of dark chocolate into his mouth, Harry allowed himself to be guided by Neville and Ron in the direction of the lift.
“You guys don’t want to listen to the Minister’s proclamation?” Harry asked.
“Had my quotient for the day, mate,” Ron admitted candidly.
“I saw Kingsley Shacklebolt and others follow the Headmistress out the main doors,” Neville observed. “They’ll make sure he stays on track.”
“What about you, Mad-Eye?” Ginny inquired with a smile as the lift door closed silently.
“Don’t much care for stairs myself,” he snarled good-naturedly. “Besides, didn’t know how much longer I could control my acid tongue.”
Harry nodded in commiseration to Moody’s crooked smile. “By the way, old man, I want to thank you for the first aid you gave me with that nasty bite.”
“All in the line of work.” Moody nodded. “Tonks started the procedure, but she’s always so squeamish about the exsanguination spell. Guess, it helps that I practiced it on myself “ gave me a better appreciation for the finer points, if you know what I mean.”
“You performed that procedure on your own body?” Ginny was incredulous.
“Sure, not much assistance available in the wilds,” Moody scoffed.
“I know I’m not supposed to ask,” Ron ventured. “But is that how you lost your leg?”
Moody laughed sharply, a sound rather like a bark. “Naw, that’s a much better story, much more gruesome. Sit next to me during supper and I’ll spin out the entire tale for you, if you like.”
Ron nodded eagerly while next to him, Hermione’s face took on a slightly greenish hue.
Harry Potter and the Hero's Lament by L A Moody
Chapter Notes: The survivors of the day’s skirmish are brought before the Minister for Magic; Hermione is in top form.