January bled into February with the exaggerated slowness that always accompanied winter. Time stretched long and languid, mirroring the too-long nights and the much too-short days. Snow fell across the landscape in icy sheets, blanketing Hogwarts within its chill grasp.
Harry had spent his limited free-time practicing, taking a page out of Ron's book and starting a little evening project. It hadn't taken long for him to see results and he had let out a long breath upon his first successful cast, thankful the charm came easily to him.
Non-verbal attempts at the stunning spell and lessons with boggarts and the Patronus charm were interesting, but it was nice to learn simple magic at times. It reminded him of a much smaller boy that watched a feather float into the air with wide, disbelieving eyes.
He met Fleur in their usual place outside the anti-apparition wards, though with one noticeable difference. When she appeared, shivering as her boots sank into the shin-deep snow, he was, for once, visible.
Her thin dark wand was in hand immediately, but he stepped forward, his own at the ready.
"Let me try," he said, holding the feeling of warmth and the shape of the spell in his mind.
There was no flash of light to indicate his success, but a sudden pleased gasp from his girlfriend was all he needed.
"Very well done," she said with a wide smile, stepping forward and enveloping him in a hug.
Her smile grew even wider as she pulled back, her hands lingering on his own warmed clothing.
"As I said; a must-learn."
"I feel stupid for not trying to learn it sooner," he said, turning back towards the castle where a snow-strewn path had patches melted away, revealing the stone beneath. "I tried to make a path for us, but the charm didn't want to stick to the ground very well."
"It is more suited to less substantial things, especially clothing," she said with a nod. "Believe me, I have tried. I think the charm feeds off your body heat when cast on clothing and can both be more effective and last longer because of it. The stones beneath us have no innate heat of their own, so it is difficult to attach the charm in any significant way."
"You really should write Hermione sometime," Harry said, sloshing his way through one of the partially-melted circles he had created at the beginning.
"Am I boring you? Should I be talking to your more studious friend?"
His head snapped to the side and he relaxed when he found her grinning over at him.
"She's your friend too."
"Either way, it is as I have said countless times. I would be happy to receive a letter from her."
"I've told her that, but she can be…shy. Nothing is stopping you from writing her first."
They stepped through the entryway and Fleur melted the snow from their shoes and dried the bottoms of their trousers with a wave of her wand.
"I am unsure…the last time I chose to write to someone, we ended up in a relationship."
Harry felt his ears warm through the lingering cold but didn't rise to the bait. He turned down one of the lesser-used hallways to avoid as many students as possible on their way to Dumbledore's office.
"I don't think that's what she'd have in mind," he said. "Are you nervous about writing her a letter? It's just Hermione."
She blew out a breath and he glanced over to find her chewing on her lip.
"She might be 'just Hermione' to you," she eventually said as they began to ascend a narrow flight of stairs, "but to me, she is one of your best friends, and a girl. I have not had much luck making friends with other girls."
"But you know Hermione already. You got along well enough at the New Year's party."
"We did, that is true. It is just…I do not know why I hesitate. I would very much like to talk to her more often. I will try to write a letter tonight after I leave."
"I'll tell Hermione she can use Hedwig. That owl's likely to bite my nose off if I don't start giving her something to do. She might nip at you too if she figures out you're the one who made that notepaper."
Fleur's laugh fell away as they drew up to the gargoyle that guarded the stairwell to Dumbledore's office. One hand found the end of her hair, which was pulled back into a loose tail, her ribbon tied low. It sat at a simple, professional black and was tied into a bow whose loops barely peeked out from either side of her slender neck.
"We had better get this over with," she said in a quiet voice. "They are not memories I enjoy remembering, but if it is to help us muster what is needed to stop that monster, then I am prepared."
Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, his lower half almost obscured by stacks of paperwork and books. Two books floated in the air next to him, each turning a page as he pointed to it with one finger. His spectacles sat at the end of his nose and his dark, circled eyes peered out over the top. He blinked heavy lids then the corners wrinkled into a smile as Harry shut the door behind them.
"Thank you both for coming," he said, setting down his quill and stretching his fingers. "I daresay your input tonight will be invaluable for our case."
He rose from his chair and beckoned them forward.
"I apologize for the disarray. There is quite a lot of paperwork when involving the ICW in domestic politics." He offered Fleur a commiserating smile. "As you are well aware, Miss Delacour."
Fleur nodded, the cluttered desk in front of them a near mirror for hers at the Ministry. She blinked then glanced up at the headmaster.
"The ICW, Sir?" she asked, frowning. "Already? My father had anticipated that the Ministry would want to keep the campaign against Voldemort a local affair."
"Yes, the Minister said as much when I first informed him of my plans," Dumbledore said with a nod. "However, I think it's best to handle the inevitable chaos of integrating ICW wartime bureaucracy into our own before Voldemort goes on the offensive, as I am sure he is planning to do. Better now, than when every wasted moment is a potential life lost.
"I would be remiss if I did not express my appreciation for your help, Miss Delacour," he continued. "As you can see, any relief from my considerable paperwork is invaluable."
A knowing smile lifted his considerable mustache.
"Had Amelia not warned me away, I might have seen to appointing you to be my assistant."
Harry watched as Fleur fought a valiant battle against the flush that crept up her neck.
"Madam Bones…Sir?"
"The very same, though, you did not hear anything from me," he said with a wink.
His smile faded and he regarded them for a moment before speaking.
"I have asked you here this evening to provide your memories of the night of Voldemort's resurrection."
He shifted a stack of papers and pulled a small familiar box from atop his desk. The gray metal was plain and unadorned with nothing more than a simple latch on the front.
Movement from Harry's side drew his attention and he looked over as Fleur took a partial step backward.
"I cannot touch the vials while the box is open," Dumbledore said, placing the small iron container on the edge of his desk. "But I am aware of the risk to you, Miss Delacour, so you may have Mr. Potter place your vial inside once you have inserted the stopper."
Fleur only nodded, unable to tear her gaze away from the profoundly innate box.
"How do we get the memory out, Professor?" Harry asked, hoping to dispel the barely controlled fear he saw peeking through the corners of Fleur's intense expression.
He stepped forward and plucked the vials from the container, then held one out to Fleur.
"I can show you if you wish," Dumbledore said but then waved a hand towards Fleur. "I assume you know how, as well?"
" Oui, " she whispered, then blinked away the daze that had come over her and accepted the offered vial. "I am sorry. Yes, I can show him."
"Excellent. While I do not think it would be a problem were I to demonstrate the charm, I am attempting to limit my interaction with your procurement of the memory. If you could, please begin the memory from the time you came upon the Triwizard Cup and end it once Fawkes returned you to Hogwarts."
Fleur bobbed her head in a jerky nod and turned to Harry, raising her wand to her temple.
"You will focus on the memory," she said, closing her eyes. "Think of the moment you and I stood in front of the cup. The more senses you can bring into the memory, the clearer it will be."
The tension in her shoulders crept up her neck and settled into frown lines creasing her forehead. Her jaw clenched and her eyes darted as silence stretched through the office. When she pulled her wand away from her temple, a shining near-white strand clung to the tip of her wand. She sagged once it was out, her breath coming quick and ragged.
"Like that," she said with a weak smile, dropping it into the vial in her hand.
She cast a quick glance over at the box, then thrust her memory into his hands.
"I am sorry. Please put mine in with yours."
With a nod he mimicked her movement, raising his wand to his head.
The wood was warm against his skin and grew almost unbearably hot as he focused on that nightmarish night. An odd slippery sensation spilled across the side of his face as he drew his wand away from his temple. He deposited the memory into his own empty vial and stuffed the stopper into the top in a futile effort to banish the lingering echoes of her screams.
He stepped forward and placed the vials into the small box and closed the top with a small click.
Dumbledore's countenance softened as he stared down at them.
"I apologize to you both that I was unable to protect you from such horrors. My lack of foresight cost you both dearly."
"It is not your fault, Sir," Fleur said, gathering herself before shaking her head. "What sort of monster can raise itself from the dead? How could you have predicted something so outlandish?"
"How indeed," Dumbledore said with a frown, his eyes sliding to the wall where the Sword of Gryffindor hung in an ornate metal display. "As I age, I find myself falling more in line with Alastor's somewhat skewed views on the world. Preparedness is a mindset we should all strive to cultivate."
"Er…yes, Sir," Harry said, frowning over at Fleur, who shrugged.
The Headmaster shook himself and fixed them with a smile.
"Thank you both for coming. Harry, I will see you this weekend for our lesson. Miss Delacour, please feel free to use my floo to return home. No need to travel all the way back to Hogsmeade to disapparate."
Disappointment settled heavily in Harry's stomach. Despite the unpleasantness around picturing such a harrowing event in such detail, he had been glad for the excuse to have Fleur at the castle and had been looking forward to some time in the Room of Requirement before she left. Maybe he could come up with some other reason for her to come to visit before their next study session the following weekend.
"Thank you," Fleur said, giving Harry an apologetic smile before tossing a handful of floo powder and vanishing through spinning green flames.
"I have yet more paperwork to complete," Dumbledore said, moving from his spot in front of his desk back to his chair where the two floating books waited obediently at its side, "and you are dangerously close to curfew. Thank you again, Harry. I will ensure that this gets to the Ministry."
Harry tried to smile but felt the grimace the moment it touched his lips.
"At least maybe then it'll have been for a reason."
"Indeed."
With a quick goodbye, Harry hurried down the stairs and back to Gryffindor tower. Maybe if he got there in time, a quick chat with Fleur on their notepaper could staunch the inevitable nightmares that threatened to resurface, carried with the phantom Cruciatus pains that shot through his bones and made each step ache with the memory of vivid molten agony.
He quickened his step, trying not to run to the sanctuary of his dorm.
XxX
Dumbledore's promised lesson the following weekend was not another new spell, as Harry had hoped, but was instead a tighter focus on the non-verbal portion of his training. Armed with the focus required to force a boggart from the room and the presence of mind to feel a memory so strongly as to give it form, a small part of him had expected to find the task a simple effort.
That small part was immediately disappointed.
No matter how often he drew himself near to performing the Patronus to examine the sense of being filled with the feeling, a similar effect for the much more basic stunner remained elusive; taunting.
Fortunately, the lesson's focus was a perfect reason to ask Fleur back to the castle, both for further instruction on achieving the feat and for their private moments after everybody had left.
Luna, in her own strange way, seemed to grasp Fleur's explanations quicker than even Hermione. In short order, her skill with the stunner rivaled even Harry, with her regularity on casting on the pivots surpassing his own. She had turned it into an almost flowing dance, rather than a sprint down a row of dummies, and the lilting arcs of her arm were fluid and almost always on-target.
Her performance inspired a bit of competitive fire in Ron, who had come to the lesson tired and complaining of headaches. Once he began running the course, however, his furrowed brow relaxed and his vibrant stunners splashed against the dummies with precise consistency.
During one of Hermione's runs, when Ron was sitting down catching his breath and Fleur was standing…somewhere while watching Hermione for instruction, Luna sidled up alongside Harry, wisps of golden hair plastered to her sweaty forehead. She stared at him until he began to fidget, watching as he grabbed his glasses from his face and wiped the lenses on his shirt just for something to do.
"Why do you do this?" she asked, her voice lacking some of its usual airy nature. "Is it fun?"
"A little," he said, his eyes darting reflexively to where he suspected Fleur was standing. "It's kind of nice to do something with everyone like this."
Rather than be mollified, her pale lips turned down in a frown.
"But I don't understand. You used to do Quidditch in your spare time for fun. I liked watching the Gryffindor games because you were so quick on your broom...when you weren't breaking bones."
He winced and couldn't suppress the hand that rubbed at his arm, even if the scar from his protruding bone had been healed.
"Er…yeah, I did."
"Why did you stop? I thought you liked it more than schoolwork like this?"
Harry tried to ignore the implication that she had been paying more than cursory attention to him, though he was unable to shake the image of her wide eyes staring up at him from the quidditch stands. It wasn't as though he was unused to people watching the Boy-Who-Lived, but Luna seemed to be less…superficial.
He swallowed back the bubbling anxiety that arose when he was forced to dance around the truth of his past. He licked his lips and picked his words carefully.
"It's not a big secret that things have been strange for me at Hogwarts," he said after some thought. "My whole life has been a bit odd. After the…tournament, I realized I was pretty unprepared every time something like that happened. Most of the time my friends got caught up in it with me."
Hermione ended her run and Ron got up to try again, his wand in hand and jaw set.
"I did a lot of…thinking, over the summer, and realized that some things were holding me back and that I needed to try to be the person my friends need me to be."
"And that person doesn't play quidditch?"
He let out a small half-smile.
"Maybe someday. Quidditch was about flying, really. I felt free while I was up in the sky, but it didn't change anything. So I was what needed to change."
Luna's frown deepened, her eyes narrowing in concentration.
"So you changed yourself for your friends?"
He grimaced.
"It sounds bad when you say it like that. I just…needed to be better, be stronger." He tried to smile. "What would I do if we all ended up in the next crazy tournament the school decides to host?"
She nodded slowly, digesting his words.
"To get better…" she mused aloud. "I suppose…that if we always stayed the same, that'd be rather boring, wouldn't it? Being someone your friends can rely on…that's noble, in a way."
"Er…yeah," he said, unable to shake the feeling that he had utterly bollocksed it up.
How had he understood something so clearly while on his broom, but the words couldn't make the translation to his mouth?
Maybe he should have told her about Voldemort.
And the Dursleys…
He banished the frightening thought the moment it reared its head.
Having a study group where he didn't need to hide everything was nice, but he was barely comfortable with the school knowing the secret that he was dating someone, let alone who. No need to go sharing his deepest secrets just for convenience. He could handle the strain of continued silence.
"So I guess to answer your question, I like Quidditch a lot," he said, smiling at her, "but I like this too."
"This is nice," she agreed with a single nod of her head. "I want to keep doing it."
Neither heard the careful footsteps that carried an invisible body back to where she stood to watch their runs, and nobody saw the way she twirled the ends of her deep blue ribbon through her fingers, frowning as a knot of worry formed tight in her chest.
Her muttered words were lost in the pounding of Hermione's feet across the stones and the crash of dummies as they were blown backwards.
"Changed for...us?"
XxX
Flashes of gray stone shifted around her as she pulled the stuffy cloak from over her head, her hand automatically swiping across the fabric to remove her hair from where it had stuck to the garment. A wave of comfortable warmth rolled across her as the customary fireplace sprung out of the ground and comfort of a whole different variety followed as their little couch popped into existence atop the ovular rug.
She longed to collapse into the soft fire-warmed cushions. Or rather, into Harry's arms, if she were being honest with herself. Even as slim as he was, there was safety when he held her, no matter how briefly.
But as he sat down and looked up at her through those glasses of his and blinked away the dark strands of his somewhat long, runaway hairs, something inside her twisted painfully.
It was so easy to lose herself in these moments, infrequent as they were. Nightly talks only spurned her desire for their study sessions, to relax into him in the way that was so impossible in her cold, empty apartment.
It was so easy to forget.
Then he had flinched away from her, from the brush of her fingertips against his hair. A hand that had sought to bring him comfort had instead brought fear. The memory of his wild eyes as they darted to her threatened tears, though she had thought them all fallen.
"Fleur?"
The steady vibration of nervousness intermingled with the higher buzz of excitement. Her feet carried her forward, even as she retreated further.
How had she not noticed?
The steady thrumming undercurrent had pervaded her sense of him as he recollected his experience with the dementors, but it hadn't masked his anxiety.
How swiftly she had abandoned the hours she had spent watching him, learning his slight tells and cadence, just to throw it all away the moment her abilities took hold. Yet another aspect of her heritage that was good for nothing but creating problems in its single-minded execution. She found her darkest secrets spilling from her in the middle of a snow-covered field because of the steady unwavering care he showed her.
But…did he feel safe with her?
It was a good thing she had found her way to the couch as the thought stole the strength from her legs.
Surely he did. He had sent her the letter and opened up to her so significantly to allow her abilities access to his emotions.
And yet…
Their warmth-filled moments as the night drew to a close on the small couch were her doing. He accepted, often happily, her hugs and the way she liked to have his hand in hers. His kisses were gentle and reciprocal and so often left her wishing they had more time.
And yet…
Her invites to the castle came following a lesson. Their evening chats, while welcome, were often mundane and superficial. And he needed to be better…
For them.
"Fleur?" he asked again, his accent tracing across her name carefully, rather than with the deliberate barbarity Tonks liked to employ.
She glanced over at him.
The nervousness spiked even higher and his bright green eyes went wide.
She needed to be careful.
"I overheard you talking with Luna."
Damn, idiot mouth.
"You did?" he asked, eyebrows raised. "About quidditch and stuff?"
She nodded, shifting so her knee touched his. No matter his reticence to initiate contact, she could always catch him smiling down at the spots where they touched.
"I think she might be feeling as though she doesn't fit in," she said in a desperate attempt to divert from her mistake.
Harry frowned.
"I think she fits in fine. She can say some weird stuff sometimes, but we're all a little weird."
"I am sure it feels that way, but you, Ron, and Hermione are a close-knit group. It can be intimidating to try to become a part of that."
He eyed her, confusion spiking in his sense.
No…
In the slight furrow of his brow and the way he drew his lips together.
"Do you-?" he began but trailed off when she held up a hand.
"We are not speaking of me. There are alternative challenges to my troubles integrating." He frowned but didn't continue.
"I think…" she said, carefully choosing the proper words, her mind already beginning to ache. Translation was difficult enough. "I think that she may have walked away with the impression that she needs to change to fit in."
His frown deepened and he nodded slowly.
"Yeah…I thought I'd messed that up."
"Your heart is in the right place, as it always is. Perhaps you could talk to her again? Let her know that she does not need to change to appease others?"
His quick nod sent a knot of disappointment rolling down to her stomach but she ignored the feeling.
He wasn't one for vagaries, when she did broach the subject, she would need to be clear.
For now…she needed to think.
"So," she said, pushing them away from such a deep precipice. "Why did you choose a room like this for us to spend our time in?"
"When I first showed the room to Ron and Hermione, it was one of the tests she did. It's not exactly the same, but it's close. I thought it was nice."
"It is," she murmured, scooting closer so her side was touching his. "It is cozy."
His hand squeezed hers as a log popped in the fireplace. Artificial moonlight spilled through the window, a silvery glow to accent the warm, flickering orange of the fire.
With reluctance, she let her worries slide away. There would be time for such things, and she needed to take care with her words, lest she unintentionally spark fear in him. Again.
She lifted the hand that held his and shifted it so his arm draped over her shoulder. He squeezed her upper arm, his cool hand imparting all the reassurance and comfort she had hoped it would. She settled her head against him and placed her hand on his knee, drawing slow circles with her thumb.
Sleep threatened to pull her into unconsciousness, each crackle of the fire and heartbeat beneath her ear a gentle lullaby. She wanted to succumb to the call. A desperate desire to sleep in the safety of his arms, to awaken next to him. A need so pervasive and strong that her home had become empty and cold as she slid into bed each night.
But she didn't give in. She couldn't.
She wanted so much from him, so much that she didn't know if he wanted. Each step had been reciprocated with enthusiasm and care, but they had been her steps.
Would he be afraid if she told him how much she missed him when they were apart?
Should he be?
Her mind traced the same well-worn circles that often kept her up after their nightly notepaper conversations.
How was she supposed to know what was normal, in a relationship that was anything but?
She forced her quickening breath to calm, keeping it slow and regular.
Maybe she didn't know what he was comfortable with, but that didn't mean she couldn't ask.
Clear and direct communication. That was how he'd always been. If he didn't initiate…well…they'd just have to talk about it.
But some other time. When her head was clearer.
Her breathing slowed and she let herself relax, brushing her cheek against him. Warmth from the hearth poured over them, seeping into her bones to meet her own burning flame. Her anxiety settled and she contented herself to listening to the snap of the fire.
As sleep again tugged at her and she felt her thoughts grow distant, the small brush of contact on the top of her head sent contentment spilling down her body, covering her in a blanket that carried her off to pleasant, simple dreams.
XxX
Sirius strode into the massive Wizengamot chamber alongside Narcissa, who had waited for him just outside the massive entry doors. He glanced up as they walked, squinting to try to see the glass ceiling that looked into the atrium so many floors above them. Workers walking across the glass were barely visible through the enchanted, sunny, late-February sky. The copy of Hogwart's Great Hall ceiling was sub-par compared to the original, but even so, it invoked a feeling of grandness to the chamber, rather than of an underground cylinder, as was the reality.
The extravagance of the ceiling reeked of the metaphorical snobbishness that permeated most aspects of the Ministry. A pretentious showing that those the government served could look down upon them and see them as fair and just adjudicators of the law.
He scoffed and returned his attention to the bustling room. The Wizengamot did its dirty work in a much smaller chamber in the bowels of the Ministry in a small stone chamber.
"Why come if you are so full of contempt?" Narcissa asked as they ascended the small stairs to the second row of seats where both House Black and House Malfoy sat. "It is not as though you can vote without being reinstated."
"I'm just here to support Dumbledore," Sirius said, sliding past an old man with sunken cheeks and an unlit pipe held in yellowed teeth. Narcissa's nose wrinkled as she took extra care to avoid touching the man. "Besides, one should probably be there when your country goes to war."
"Quite."
They found their seats, separated by Houses Longbottom and Doge.
"And what about you, Cissy?" he asked, inspecting her narrowing eyes. "How do you expect this to play out?"
She held his gaze for a moment before letting out an exasperated sigh. "While I understand your reticence, I grow tired of the constant suspicion. I get enough of that when I am at my house."
"Yes, pardon me. You get enough suspicion from the people that follow the man who killed Lily and James, tried to kill Harry, and killed your husband!"
She shushed him with a fierce look, her blue eyes flashing.
"Which, you'll recall, is why I came to you," she hissed.
She looked to the last few members trickling in and shook her head.
"We can talk later if we must. This is not the place."
Sirius followed her gaze and groaned when he found the Minister staring up at him, a too-wide grin on his pudgy face.
"Mr. Black," he said, his grating voice a forced sort of jovial. "How wonderful to see you taking an interest in your duties! You should be commended for your dedication in witnessing what could potentially be a monumental moment, even if you're unable to cast a vote."
His smile grew impossibly wider.
"Let's hope Dumbledore makes a convincing enough argument that it won't be necessary."
"I have no doubt that he will," Sirius said, keeping a careful reign on his temper.
Jackass or not, it wouldn't serve to agitate the Minister, especially while still on the path to reinstatement.
"We shall see," Fudge said, nodding to Augusta Longbottom as she sat down next to Sirius. "I'm sure this austere body will give his words all the attention they are due."
Before Sirius could reply, Fudge moved to the tall raised dais that split the sections of the Wizengamot in half, and produced his dark brown wand from inside his jacket and pressed it to his throat.
"Take your seats, take your seats please."
The last stragglers found their way to their appointed seats, most of which, Sirius noted, likely made frequent visits to Malfoy Manor.
The following hours, while important, threatened to bore Sirius enough to make him swear off any further Wizengamot sessions. Dumbledore's speeches were thorough and effective, but long and dry. His single impassioned plea came at the end as he produced one of the iron tamper-proof memory boxes from his robes and handed it off to an intern to open.
What followed was a nightmarish recollection of the horror of Voldemort's resurrection, experienced in duplicate from both Harry and Fleur's perspectives.
The room was silent as the memory tinted light of a phoenix faded for a second time. Sirius had expected an interjection, but none came. It wasn't until a loud thud came from the glass ceiling far above that life was restored to the Wizengamot.
"Do you have anything more, Dumbledore?" Fudge said, his normally grating tone quiet and resigned.
"That is all I have, Minister. I ask that my petition be brought to a vote."
"Seconded," Augusta said, her powerful voice ringing throughout the room.
"Very well," the Minister said, nodding over to a squat woman in pink who sat at his side who scowled but pulled out a quill and a piece of parchment. "The Chief Warlock has petitioned the Ministry to declare war on the supposedly resurrected He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers. All in favor?"
The rustle of fabric filled the room as more than enough hands to grant Dumbledore's request raised into the air with Narcissa's manicured hand among them. For solidarity, and perhaps a bit of fun, Sirius raised his hand as well, earning him a sour glare from the grumpy witch in pink.
With a four-fifths vote in favor, the Ministry of Magic went to war.
XxX
"Well well, Dumbledore," said Fudge, striding across the floor of the Wizengamot chamber, taking care not to step into the runic circle for holding prisoners and dementors. "You got what you wanted. There will be fear and chaos here while the ICW sticks its hands into our business. While we begin the arduous process of preparing for war, the people will be panicking."
"They can be preparing, the same as we will be," said Dumbledore. "I look forward to working with you to ensure the transition is as smooth as possible.
The serene, calculating stare Dumbledore leveled at Fudge made his blood boil. Before he could snap, he turned on his heel, waving for Dolores to follow.
"Why didn't you accuse him of tampering with the memories?" she asked, her shrill voice an even higher octave of irate. "A final push that relied on memories procured outside of official protocol? We should have challenged their validity the moment he produced the evidence."
"Learn to read a room, Dolores," he grumbled, pushing his way through the slower members of the Wizengamot still making their way from the room. "He had them already. We lost a little after halfway through. Had I fought back, I'd only have weakened our position in their eyes. If we want to make sure the ICW integration is done right, and with as little unnecessary oversight as possible, we will need support."
She followed him to the elevators and snapped her fingers, causing a scrawny young intern to leap from an empty one. With a push of a button, she sent them rocketing to the atrium level.
"Are you sure you don't want to reach out to the ICW now?" she asked as the elevator slowed, bringing into view the crowded main floor of the Ministry.
Hundreds of conversations echoed throughout the massive chamber, suppressing even the sound of the massive fountain that stood in the middle.
"I'm positive Dumbledore has already done so. To attempt to subvert his moves would again weaken our position."
He eyed the woman as they strode through the crowd, their feet thumping across the thick glass that looked down into the chamber they had just vacated.
"I am beginning to wonder how you became Undersecretary without such basic instincts." He ignored her spluttering as he made his way to the row of floos. "I need your help with this Dolores. We can't be-"
He was brought up short as he bumped into a short man in a dingy brown coat and matching hat. The man stumbled, cradling a small cloth bag in both hands. His eyes were shadowed by the brim of his hat, but Fudge could see the whites as the man goggled up at him.
"I'm sorry, Minister," the man said, ducking his head in apology. "I suppose I was lost in thought."
"Understandable," said Fudge, straightening his jacket. "Still, best to watch where you're going. Now if you'll excuse-"
"You see, I'd heard that Harry Potter was going to come here," the man said, looking down through the glass beneath their feet. "My nephew is on the Wizengamot, you see. He said he had heard rumors of his involvement in what happened today."
Fudge tried to appear as though he was keeping up with the man's rambling speech.
"Unfortunately, Mr. Potter was not here today," he said slowly, carefully. "I can't exactly discuss the goings-on of closed-door Wizengamot sessions."
"No no, I understand. Still, it would have been nice to see the youths taking an interest in politics. Harry Potter and his friends getting involved with the Ministry? Well…that would be something special, wouldn't it?"
"Quit bothering the Minister with your foolishness," Dolores snapped, waving the man away with one hand.
"Terribly sorry, Ma'am," he said, tucking his bag into a pocket and again ducking his head. "Bad habit of mine."
Without another word, the man wandered off into the crowd, his hat tilted back as he stared up at the golden fountain that dominated the space.
"Some people have-" Dolores began but never got the opportunity to finish, as Fudge turned on his heel and headed back towards the elevators.
Inviting Harry Potter to the Ministry was a good plan. The boy's name alone rallied people around the hope that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could be defeated. Dumbledore could handle the ICW and all the chaos that would bring. He'd work at a more…ground level.