FicWad

Harry groaned, rubbing his full belly when he and the others had finished demolishing the feast that Dobby had provided - every bit as delicious as the meals at Hogwarts. Dobby beamed, delighted to have been invited to eat with the Potter’s and their friends.

“That was absolutely smashing Dobby!” said Harry, grinning at the happy little House-Elf. “Now maybe you ought to go back to Hogwarts and get some rest...”

Dobby’s already enormous eyes widened pleadingly and his bat-like ears quivered.

“Dobby is wanting to stay sir,” he squeaked. “Harry Potter and his wife is needing a house-elf of their own now that they are at home.”

“But you work at Hogwarts Dobby. Dumbledore is still paying you properly, isn’t he?”

“Yes sir. But Dobby is not wanting to work for the headmaster anymore. Dobby wants to work for Harry Potter.”

Harry sighed and ruffled his hair with his fingers, glancing at Hermione. He had never in his life considered having his own personal servant. It seemed a bit decadent really.

“It’s up to you Harry,” said Hermione sympathetically, knowing exactly how Harry felt. “Dobby’s free to make his own choices.”

“Alright then,” Harry finally agreed after thinking for several minutes. “But none of this one galleon a week nonsense Dobby. If you’re going to work for me then I’m paying you ten galleons a week! And... and you have to take paid holidays.”

“Thank you sir!” Dobby squealed gleefully. “Dobby is not wanting so much - but if Master Harry insists, Dobby will make do.”

“I think ees bedtime,” said Fleur, yawning. Unable to help herself, Daphne yawned too, and soon everyone else was yawning as well.

“Come on then, let’s find you all some rooms,” said Hermione.

“We’ve got loads to choose from,” Harry added...

~o0o~

Feathery melodious wisps skipped across thunderous throbbing rhythms and looping arpeggios, braced by stuttering swells of strings and soaring seraphic voices. The writhing crowd seemed to move in frozen moments of time like an old flickering film reel, caught as it was in the flashing strobe lights and lasers.

Elphias Doge grumbled as he made his way across the dancefloor from the loo; it was impossible to avoid being jostled by the dancing throng of exuberant ravers. London nightclubs weren’t what he remembered them to be, but perhaps he was just getting old.

“Nice bell-bottoms grandad!” chortled a clearly inebriated lad wearing baggy clothes and a tall red and white striped hat. “Your look’s a bit outdated innit mate?”

“Hark whose talkin’ Warren,” giggled a girl with pink knotted hair and sparkly pink face paint. “That Dr Seuss hat is so last year...” The girl grinned at Elphias. “Don’t mind ‘im! I think that retro look is cool, gran’pa...”

“Mmm... I like your tie-dyed friend with the sexy long Gandalf beard,” giggled one of the other girls. Her features were made up with a vibrant array of dazzling colours, rainbow swirls on one cheek, and gold and silver stars on the other. Her eyes appeared glazed with bliss, and to Elphias’s surprise she slinkily draped her arms around Albus Dumbledore’s shoulders, giving him a kiss without warning.

“Excuse me!” gasped Elphias, shocked at the girl’s forward behaviour.

“It’s quite alright, Elphias... I believe these youngsters are simply under the influence of some sort of ecstasy-inducing substance... They seem to mean no harm,” Albus asserted, his clear blue eyes twinkling. “I must say, this does take me back a few decades...”

“Er... yes. I suppose so Albus,” Elphias grimaced. “But this... this music... Whatever became of Abba and the Bee Gees?”

“Oooh... I love Abba!” said the pink haired girl.

“I was thinking more of the previous decade,” Dumbledore chuckled. “The summer of ‘67 in particular when ‘free love’ was all the rage. But in any case my dear Elphias, I confess that I find this music quite intoxicating indeed. And can you truly not hear it? ... the echoes of days gone past?”

“Well... I suppose there are hints of Abba - Take a Chance on Me in particular,” Elphias Doge grudgingly admitted, glancing at his watch. “But I’m getting a bit of headache, and I am more than ready for a change of venue. Our contact is late...”

“I am sure they will be here soon,” Dumbledore replied soothingly. “In the meantime, I must say that I am quite enjoying this moment... it may be the last such in a good long while. And if you are not up for a dance with me, Elphias, I think I will take this delightful young woman up instead...”

“Very well then,” Elphias sighed. He made his way to the bar and ordered himself a stiff drink. Sipping on his cocktail and massaging his forehead, Elphias watched Albus gyrate vigorously with college-girl in time to the pulsing electronic rhythms.

Despite the intensely rushing surges of elation sweeping through her from head to toe, the girl with the rainbows and stars painted on her face still had some measure of her faculties. She eyed the old man at the bar cannily.

“Your friend seems a bi’ put out, Mr...?”

“It’s Dumbledore, but you may call me Albus, and don’t mind my partner Elphias. We haven’t been a serious item in some decades. And you are?”

“Clara... Clara Dawson. The pink haired girl is my little sister, Gemma... and the bloke with the silly hat is Warren - ‘e’s just a friend!”

“Well, Miss Dawson... I am quite delighted to make your acquaintance...”

Clara batted her eyelashes and blushed. Warren bounced by with Gemma, grinning and chortling.

“Oh shut it!” Clara moaned at Warren. “It’s just a dance...”

Finally the lengthy dance track came to an end and Dumbledore thought that perhaps it was time to rejoin Elphias. But Clara seemed reluctant to let him go.

“I am sorry my dear, but I really must be getting on,” said Dumbledore. Clara bit her lip as she peered into Albus’s kind looking eyes.

Dumbledore sighed inwardly, recognising the look all too well. Apparently the affection she had displayed was rooted in a very real attraction - perhaps a symptom of the recreational drug coursing through her veins, perhaps not. Either way, far too many would inappropriately be tempted to take advantage of the situation. The young were so vulnerable, particularly those such as she in her current state.

“Take care dear,” he said gently, raising his eyebrows. Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, Dumbledore retrieved a glossy card with gold lettering. “For emergencies only! I may not look it, but I am capable of resolving most problems... including imminent danger. Should you ever have need, give me a ring and leave a message.”

“Oh... Ta Albus!” Clara’s eyes lit up. “Will do...”

Elphias shook his head when Dumbledore joined him at the bar. “Really Albus... You know I love you dearly, but you are incorrigible...” Elphias trailed off and stiffened when he spied a well dressed young man with closely cropped brown hair and one gold earring approaching. The man glanced at a photograph in his hand.

“Monsieur? You are Albus Dumbledore?” The young Frenchman looked Dumbledore up and down, taking in the tie-dyed t-shirt and jeans with apparent surprise. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“Madame Maxime... she sends me,” the man reassured Dumbledore, holding out his hand. “Pierre... Pierre Deveraux.”

After peering into Pierre’s eyes for a moment, Dumbledore nodded, satisfied that he wasn’t from the Ministry. He took Pierre’s hand and shook it.

“You have it then?”

“Oui! The international portkey with ze proper coordinates as requested.” Pierre opened the briefcase he had brought and retrieved a hairbrush.

Dumbledore smiled and took the hairbrush from Pierre’s hand. “Thank you Pierre. You have my warmest regards.”

Elphias Doge followed Dumbledore as he made his way to an exit at the rear of the nightclub. They emerged into an icy torrent of rain in a forbiddingly dark alleyway, peering in all directions, making sure that none were lurking in the shadows. Grasping either side of the hairbrush, they both took a deep breath as they felt the familiar tugging sensation behind their navels. Moments later they began to rise, spinning in the air, then vanished as they were sucked into the vortex above them...

~o0o~

Andrea Mason glanced around nervously, checking her watch at intervals. Her heart thumped in her ears - seeming louder than the pulsing beats which shook the nightclub - when she spied a character who looked suspiciously out of place. She sighed with relief when the smartly attired young man with vaguely Gallic features and a briefcase headed for the other end of the bar.

But she kept her eyes on the man, surprised at the incongruity when he met with a bearded old hippy who was clearly reliving his glory days. She bit her lip in bewilderment, wondering if it had anything to do with her meeting with the reporter from The Guardian after all.

Andrea felt something hard poking into her back and the hairs rose on the back of her neck. She inwardly cursed as her alarm skyrocketed. The distraction of the meeting taking place at the other end of the bar just might have just cost Andrea her life; the metallic object pressing against her somewhere in the vicinity of her kidneys felt an awful lot like the business end of a gun. If she had to guess, it was a glock with a silencer of the sort issued to MI6 operations officers.

“Don’t turn around,” hissed the dangerous voice behind her. “We’re going to take a little walk outside, and if you even think about bolting into the crowd, you should know that we have your daughter...”

~o0o~

With shaking hands, Minister Dolores Umbridge poured herself an extra-large brandy, filling the snifter almost to the brim. She read the memo from Hogwarts again, then crumpled it up and hurled it into the fireplace.

To say that Dolores was angry or cross would be a serious understatement; perhaps infuriated or enraged would be better terms. But there was little point in allowing herself the luxury of succumbing to fury.

Contrary to the opinion of some, Dolores Umbridge really didn’t like being angry. Anger led to mistakes and loss of control. And yet she was forced to admit to herself that sometimes anger was an appropriate response which indicated that she had never had control to begin with.

Dolores had to concede that she had no control over the mistakes and incompetencies of others. She understood implicitly that Draco Malfoy’s lack of control over himself was what had led to his unfortunate demise and the end of the Malfoy line. She sighed as she considered that Draco’s inability to control his impulses had surely been the outcome of overcompensating for his father’s death at the hands of Severus Snape, and the unforgivable abandonment of his mother.

The poor lad had clearly sought to relieve his impulses in the way that someone of such noble blood deserved, by demanding the submission of his inferiors to his desires.

It was true that Draco had made a serious error in judgment the day he had taken Astoria Greengrass without offering financial compensation to the Warlock of that House. But if the Old Ways had still been in effect, Draco’s parents could have purchased him a pretty plaything of his own - a pet such as a young muggle or mudblood girl could have provided some measure of release for his teenage urges, and he might still be alive today.

The Gryffindor halfblood Katie Bell was of little consequence. Draco had been fully within his rights for demanding satisfaction from her. But Dolores could hardly blame Daphne Greengrass, a young woman of equal blood status, for defending her own life and the honour of her family.

And as much as Dolores despised the Weasley brood - excepting her deputy of course - young Ginevra was still a pureblood - not of equal standing politically or financially to be sure - but she was still a member of a pure bloodline and of equal blood status to Gregory Goyle and Draco Malfoy nonetheless.

Ginevra Weasley had been entirely within her rights as well in defending her friend Miss Greengrass’s life and honour against Draco, and in defending her own life against Gregory Goyle, despite the downgrading of her family’s social and political status.

It was clearly Draco’s inability to control his anger at being interrupted at play with an inferior which had finally cost him his life. But it was a tragic waste which could have all been avoided if the Old Ways subscribed to by many of the Noble Houses in times long past had still been legally permissible. And that made Dolores angry.

One of the other events at Hogwarts - the loss of the Potters and the muggleborn students - while quite upsetting, was not due to any error in judgment on anyone’s part. Dolores could hardly assign blame for that. Their escape had obviously been planned well in advance, and was clearly part of the ongoing conspiracy being orchestrated by Albus Dumbledore.

As much as Dolores wished that she could punish the Carrows or the Unspeakables, she knew that they had done nothing wrong. But not having anyone in particular that she could punish for the escape of the Potters and their little friends made her very angry.

Then there was the behaviour of the Weasley Twins, following in the treasonous footsteps of their father. Their insurrectionary behaviour and deliberate flouting of authority, their facilitation of the escape of the muggleborn students, their clear lack of respect for blood status - all made them as criminally dangerous as the man their father served, Albus Dumbledore. And that made Dolores extremely angry.

Dolores suddenly noticed that her snifter was empty and she filled it with brandy again. Eventually she succumbed and passed out on her plush pink sofa. She woke the next morning with the worst hangover of her life.

It was true that she was a witch and had access to the best anti-hangover potions that Ministry Money could buy, but Dolores was still infuriated and wished that she could get drunk all over again. Unfortunately, the Minister needed her wits about her as she had a long day ahead. She would have to make do.

Sighing heavily, the Minister sipped her first cup of tea of the day and began to compose a note to her senior undersecretary.

~o0o~

The Potters and their friends slept until late Saturday morning, and Dobby brought them all a late breakfast which they took in the parlour. While hungrily digging into scrambled eggs with one hand, Harry picked up the remote control with the other and turned on the BBC to see if anything interesting was happening in the Muggle World.

But besides the early snowstorm still blanketing Scotland and parts of Northern England, very little of note appeared to be happening. Everyone’s ears perked though, when a short segment was aired regarding another “zombie virus” outbreak in a suburb on the outskirts of Stoke-on-Trent. Fortunately, it had been contained fairly quickly; though sadly, at least seven were counted among the victims of the “living dead.”

Daphne, Luna, and Parvati were the most fascinated by the television. They had got used to the idea since the introduction of the Wiz-Vision at Hogwarts, but muggle TV was entirely new to them.

Fleur was somewhat familiar with the general idea, due to following French muggle fashion and pop-culture magazines, but she had never actually watched muggle television either. Dora and Jennifer delighted in finding programmes on the cable access channels to show the others after Harry had had his fill of the BBC news.

“I was just thinking Hermione, we really ought to get a Wiz-Vision to stay up to date with whatever the Ministry is up to,” Harry said quietly while the others watched an episode of Doctor Who. “I should disguise myself and go to Diagon Alley and get one.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea Harry!” Hermione furrowed her brows in thought. “I wouldn’t mind going to Diagon Alley with you, but I’m not sure if it would be safe. Maybe it would be better for just you and Dora to go...”

“Go where?” Dora interjected when she heard her name being mentioned.

“To Diagon Alley to get a Wiz-Vision,” Harry replied with a grin. “But I’ll need to get a bit of money from my vaults. I’m not entirely sure how to go about that without giving us away, Hermione.”

“Perhaps Ragnok?” Hermione suggested. “If you can get in to see him in his office, he ought to be able to make arrangements...”

~o0o~

“Mr Ragnok sees clients by appointment only, Mr...?”

“Bond, James Bond,” the dashing wizard replied, saying the first thing which popped into his head. The elegant witch at his side did her best to stifle a giggle as the wizard continued speaking, “I think Mr Ragnok will make an exception in my case. I’m a former client of his.”

Griphook eyed the wizard and witch suspiciously. “I’ll see what I can do Mr Bond... just one moment.”

Moments later the debonair wizard and the sophisticated witch were in Ragnok’s office. The Solicitor Advocate of Gringotts steepled his long spindly fingers and regarded his clients shrewdly with dark glittering eyes.

“Mr Bond is it? Strange that I do not recall having a client by that name. However, I do believe that we can come to some sort of business arrangement... Mr Potter!”

“How did you know?” Harry gasped. “I was going to tell you anyway, but how...?”

“Trade secret!” the Goblin chuckled, giving Harry a wink. “Let me just say that I am extremely perceptive. I presume that you need to access your vault, without the Ministry being alerted to your presence in Diagon Alley today.”

“Er... yeah! Is that possible?”

“Yes indeed, Mr Potter! Gringotts takes pride in being able to offer our high profile clients private and secure access to their vaults. It is not entirely unheard of for some to deign to enter Gringotts under an assumed identity. As long as you identify yourself to Gringotts agents properly, it is of little concern to us how you present yourselves to the wizard world... I’ll have someone take you to your vault in short order.”

While Harry and Dora waited for their escort, Harry was tempted to say sorry about the Dragon Incident - even though Harry felt a bit more sorry for the Dragon itself. But Ragnok seemed to understand Harry’s apologetic expression and shook his head slightly.

“You should be most pleased with our new security features Mr Potter,” Ragnok said loudly. “After the Lestrange Affair, Gringotts Management saw fit to reconsider employing dangerous creatures to guard the vaults... The Safety of our Clientele is as important to us as is the Security of their Valuables.”

A short while later Harry and Dora departed Gringotts, Harry’s pockets now full and jangling. An eerie gloom had settled over Diagon Alley which had nothing to do with the dismal grey skies above, and shoppers darted about furtively, not looking anyone in the eye. Aurors glanced at Harry and Dora, but all the Aurors saw were a well-heeled wizard and witch who were clearly of good breeding.

Harry and Dora were both extremely discomfited by the new uniforms which the Aurors patrolling the streets were wearing. To their eyes, the long trench-coats were now less reminiscent of Sherlock Holmes and more resembling of those worn by Nazi SS officers in muggle films.

To set off the whole oppressive atmosphere, an enormous screen, taking up the side of an entire building, featured the smiling toad-like figure of Minister Umbridge herself, dressed in pink and waving a white-gloved hand. Large bold text flashed across the lower portion of the screen:

THE MINISTRY IS YOUR FRIEND

SERVING TRUTH AND JUSTICE FOR A SECURE FUTURE

“Laying it on a bit thick, isn’t she!?” Dora muttered.

“Just a bit!” Harry snorted.

Harry nervously glanced at the Wanted Posters again, thankful that he and Dora at least were skilled metamorphmagi. Familiar faces peered at him from the Wanted Posters plastering the walls and lampposts along Diagon Alley.

Dumbledore’s twinkling blue eyes gazed at Harry, and Snape’s scowling countenance glared at him, from Wanted Posters labeled Undesirable Number 1 and Undesirable Number 2 respectively. It had been a bit of a shock to see the faces of Fred and George grinning at him from a single poster, designated as Undesirable Number 5 and Undesirable Number 6. Harry supposed it had been inevitable, but it didn’t stop him from feeling guilty for getting the Twins involved.

But it was seeing Hermione’s bushy head and his own opalescent green eyes staring back at him from the poster they shared which unnerved Harry the most. The Potters had been assigned the Number 3 and Number 4 rankings on the Undesirable list.

Dora glanced worriedly at Harry, knowing exactly why seeing Hermione’s face on a Wanted Poster next to his own was distressing him the most.

“Come on then, let’s get this done with and get outta here,” Dora muttered. “You don’t need to be lookin’ at these all day.”

“Y...yeah, you’re right Dora,” Harry gulped. They strolled down the cobbled street trying to avoid the biggest puddles and finally spotted Wiz-Vision monitors in the Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment window display. Entering the shop, they browsed the various models.

“They’re a lot less expensive than I thought they’d be,” Harry murmured when he peered at the sticker prices.

“Ah, those are the Ministry subsidised models you’re lookin’ at,” said the shop owner who had overheard. “Over ‘ere are the models designed for more discerning folk with such fine taste as yourselves - they ‘ave loads more features...”

Harry managed to keep a straight face as the shop owner tried to sell him the largest, most expensive model; the owner of the shop was delighted when he purchased it. Harry was a bit concerned about carrying the Wiz-Vision, but it turned out to be much lighter than it looked.

“This is a bit too bulky to apparate with though,” Dora remarked, frowning pensively.

“Why don’t we just go out through the Leaky Cauldron and hail a cab?” Harry suggested quietly.

“Yeah... suppose that’s best really,” Dora agreed with a nod.

Tom the Bartender looked up at the couple who had entered the Pub from the Alley side. He didn’t think he recognised them, but they looked quite posh.

“Can I get you two something, Mr and Mrs...?”

“...Bond, James and Vesper Bond,” tittered the elegant witch in her poshest accent. She looked at her smirking “husband” with pleading eyes.

“Oh... er alright then, what would you like Vesper dearest?” Harry asked, struggling to keep a straight face. He almost lost his composure completely when “Vesper” put in their orders.

“Two Mad-Eye Martinis please - shaken, not stirred.”

They sat down with their drinks glancing up at the Wiz-Visions around the Pub. It felt a bit odd seeing the screens in the Leaky Cauldron. Harry supposed that the invention of the Wiz-Vision must be taking off overseas as well. The screens were all currently displaying an International Quidditch match between Venezuela and Germany, and Venezuela was leading by 70 points. Harry returned his attention to Dora and the drinks.

“Er...” Harry raised an eyebrow when he peered at the gruesome looking garnish on his Martini.

“It’s alright - it’s not a real bloody eyeball,” Dora giggled quietly. “It’s a peeled lychee stuffed with a blueberry and drizzled with raspberry preserve. And it’s always hilarious to order this when we’re having drinks with Moody. He hates ‘em!”

As they sipped their martinis, Harry and Dora both thought that it was a shame that Hermione hadn’t come with them.

“We’ll ‘ave to use some transfiguration disguise spells or muggle disguise techniques on her and do this again in a muggle pub,” Dora chortled. “James Bond really isn’t quite right unless he’s got a girl on each arm...”

Big fat raindrops were already pelting by the time the taxi-cab pulled up next to the curb in front of Number Thirteen Grimmauld Place and in mere moments it became a downpour. The elegantly attired couple got soaked as they waited for the cab to leave. Then they disappeared into the non-space between Number Eleven and Number Thirteen carrying the enormous flat box between them.

When Hermione and Fleur opened the door they both let out a huge sighs of relief, thrilled that Harry and Dora had returned safely.

“You’re both drenched!” Hermione squeaked. “Let’s get you out of your wet things before you catch cold, Harry!”

“Zat sounds like vairy good idea,” said Fleur, eyeing her girlfriend who was shivering and dripping all over the floor. “Per’aps I run a nice hot bath, Dora?”

“Er... yeah! Sounds lovely Fleur!”

Harry and Dora both grinned as their respective partners dragged them both upstairs to their respective bedrooms to “get them out of their wet things.”

~o0o~

Senior Undersecretary Weasley ran his fingers through his hair as he scurried through the largely empty Ministry. It was rare indeed to be called in on a Saturday, but the memo he had received from the Minister had indicated great urgency. He burst into the Minister’s office breathlessly.

“Sorry it took me so long, Minister,” he wheezed. “I was in the middle of a... er... erm... a conversation with Penelope, my girlfriend.”

“Not at all, Mr Weasley! There’s no need to apologise...” Minister Umbridge peered at Percy’s flustered features and reddening ears shrewdly. If she had to guess, Percy had been in the middle of a rather heated row with Miss Clearwater when he’d received the memo, and if anything, the Minister was more than a bit surprised that Percy’s relationship had lasted as long as it had.

“In any case, I have some rather dire news as you may have surmised,” Minister Umbridge continued grimly. “It is with great regret that I must inform you that Draco Malfoy is dead.”

“D...dead?” gasped the Senior Undersecretary. “Draco Malfoy is dead?”

“Yes Mr Weasley,” the Minister replied as she continued the struggle to contain her rage. “Draco Malfoy was murdered most viciously last night.”

“So.... so that means... the Malfoy line...” Percy sputtered.

“...Is extinct! Yes indeed, that is precisely what it means Mr Weasley!” Minister Dolores Umbridge’s nostrils flared.

It wouldn’t do to lose her composure. She needed her wits about her to ensure that Percy Weasley would be able to perform a necessary task. If she misplayed her hand, it could unravel some of the work she had done with the lad.

Percy Weasley had been coming along quite nicely in embracing many of the harshest policies of the Pureblood Agenda so far. It hadn’t actually taken very much effort to draw him further down the path he had already been traveling; Percy’s views of Dumbledore and Potter had been shifting, and his estrangement from his father and much of his family had been underway even before he had begun working for the Ministry under Crouch Senior.

But Percy still had a fondness for his sister and held out hopes for his younger brother. That might be an issue if Dolores didn’t choose her words carefully. Percy didn’t need to know that Daphne Greengrass and Ginny Weasley had been justifiably defending themselves at the moment; Dolores needed Percy’s anger, but she had to make sure that the anger was deflected and channeled in the right direction.

“B...but how? ....Who?” Percy’s head spun as he considered the horrifying implications of the ending of one of the most prestigious Pureblood Houses in Britain.

“Can you not guess, Mr Weasley?” Dolores’s voice took on the treacliest tone which she always employed when she sought to lead someone to her desired conclusion.

“Potter!” the Deputy Minister spat venomously. “It was Potter wasn’t it? I knew we should have snatched him and his little brood the moment Dumbledore did a bunk and went to ground...”

“Indeed Potter was involved, after a fashion!” Dolores nodded. “Or rather, according to Gregory Goyle - who was seriously injured during the attack - it was a member of Potter’s little entourage... Miss Greengrass I believe, aided and abetted by none other than your sister...”

“NO! Surely not... Ginny?” Percy went white. “Not Ginny,” he repeated. But then Percy’s blood began to boil and the blood rushed back into his cheeks. “POTTER! He should be arrested immediately. He put her up to it... I just know it!”

“Such is my own conclusion,” Dolores agreed. “But I am afraid it’s even worse than that. It is too late to arrest Potter or any of those known as the ‘Unaffiliated.’ Following the lead of Dumbledore, they have all gone to ground - with the considerable assistance of your brothers Fred and George I might add.

Your brothers staged an uprising in the aftermath of the murder of Draco Malfoy to cover for the Potters and their little friends, and escaped from the confines of Hogwarts with numerous muggleborn students...”

“Bloody Hell!” swore Percy, “I knew they were no good, filthy, treasonous louts. What of my brother Ron, and Ginny?” Percy looked at Dolores imploringly. “I... I know they’re close to Potter - but they’re brainwashed. Can we not show them some leniency?”

Minister Umbridge would have cackled with glee if she could. She had Percy Weasley in the palm of her hand now. She knew he would do whatever was required.

“Of course we can Percy dear,” Dolores addressed her Deputy Minister personally with a sad smile, “I feel much as you do, that the youngest of your clan may yet be shown the light. But in order to do so - we must deal forcefully with the root of their dysfunction...”

“My father!” Percy snarled, “He should be brought up on charges immediately.”

“Fret not my dear boy. He has already been detained,” Dolores said soothingly. “He is already being held in the Department of Mysteries, awaiting interrogation. As a member of Dumbledore’s Order, I am hopeful that he will be able to yield actionable intelligence regarding the whereabouts of Dumbledore and the Potters - and perhaps also provide some information about the nature of the Secret Weapon employed by Dumbledore against Voldemort’s forces at Hogwarts...”

“Fred and George!” Percy scowled. “We should bring them in as well. It simply won’t do to have them running around spreading insurrection and thumbing their noses at authority.”

“I quite agree Percy,” sighed the Minister, hiding her glee at her protege’s erudition behind another sad smile and a voice dripping with honey. Yes, Percy Weasley was coming along nicely indeed. “It is such a shame when family goes wrong... I know how hard this must be for you...”

“Not at all Minister,” Percy sniffed disdainfully. “I always knew that Fred and George were destined for Azkaban... er... prison anyway, seeing as Azkaban is defunct now.”

~o0o~

Albus Dumbledore sipped the champagne that his charming host, Henri Delacour, had provided - or rather, served by his wife, Apolline. Olympe Maxime was already on her second glass, wishing that she and Henri had better news for her good friend.

“I am so sorry Albus,” Olympe began, “but ze ICW Committee for the Investigation of Statutory Violations weell not interfere with the sitting head of the British Ministry unless you have some more substantial evidence zat she has violated International Laws... At the moment, to ze committee head - Madame Machschnell - eet simply appears to be an Internal Dispute.”

“I understand,” Albus sighed and drained his glass before continuing, “I was hopeful that the actions of Minister Umbridge might raise some red flags with Angelika and the other senior committee members... however, having been Supreme Mugwump myself before the Wizengamot rescinded my appointment to the ICW, I was all too aware that my petition would probably die in committee.”

“I wish we could do more openly,” said Henri Delacour glumly as he poured Dumbledore another glass of champagne. “I was most grateful when Madame McGonagall informed me that my daughter managed to reach safe haven with young Monsieur Potter and his wife.

“However, I am quite pleased to inform you that I now have several underground teams in position in Britain ready to assist you at a moment’s notice should you require them.”

“Thank you Henri!” Albus nodded gratefully as he took a sip from his refilled glass. “I may have need of them if the rumours are true.”

“And take heart Chéri...” Olympe added, “...at least ze ICW has denied your Minister’s request for ze issuance of an International Arrest Warrant against you. Her evidence against you ees also lacking.”

“That is something indeed,” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, cheered by that bit of good news. He raised his glass. “Thank you both for your kindness and your solidarity - to friendship then?”

“Oui - to friendship,” Olympe replied, raising her third glass of champagne with misty eyes.

“To friendship!” Henri raised his own glass and smiled. “And to the continuing struggle for liberté, égalité, and fraternité!”

~o0o~

The Potters and their friends were appalled by the state of Wiz-Vision’s Saturday evening programming. As of yet, only two channels were available to the general public: WVN and WVN Sports - though adverts suggested that more would be offered in coming months.

The third channel, WVN Hogwarts, was a special feed which only the Hogwarts screen could receive. WVN Sports mostly featured local, regional, and international Quidditch of course, but it was interspersed with Broomstick Racing, Troll Fighting, and Wizard Chess and Exploding Snap Tournaments.

Harry had expected that the evening news (which also featured William O’Hannity and Endora LeFay), would have wall to wall coverage of the mayhem at Hogwarts. But there was only a single reference to what had happened, delivered in a surprisingly perfunctory manner, accompanied by images of the Wanted Posters which he and Dora had seen earlier that afternoon.

“Ministry Officials are investigating reports of vandalism and violence at Hogwarts last night, following in the wake of Albus Dumbledore’s ouster,” the announcement began. “The death of a student has been rumoured, but Officials are keeping mum on the details until the initial stages of the investigation are completed.

“The only information which is being released at this time, is that Harry James Potter and his wife, Muggleborn Hermione Jean Potter, were witnessed fleeing the scene of the crime along with two accomplices, Fred and George Weasley.

“Warrants have been issued to detain them all for questioning, and all civilians are being warned to avoid confronting any of the suspects as they are all to be considered armed and dangerous. Anyone who has any information regarding their whereabouts are being asked to pass it on to the Auror Office.”

Daphne gasped in horror.

“I’m sorry!” she wailed. “It’s all my fault - I can’t believe they’re blaming you two and the Twins...”

“It’s not your fault at all Daphne!” said Jennifer earnestly. “You can’t think that!”

“It’s alright Daphne,” said Harry, giving her a hug, and trying to squash his own guilty feelings again for getting the Weasley Twins involved. “The Minister would have just made up a reason to come after me and Hermione anyway...”

“Harry and Jennifer are right Daphne, and I’m just glad the Minister isn’t blaming you and Ginny,” Hermione added.

“Forget it chérie,” said Fleur. “Ze Minister, she will say anything to turn people against ‘Arry and ‘Ermione. You ‘ad nothing to do with this - she is a liar.”

Luna and Parvati did their best to reassure Daphne as well. Daphne nodded glumly and did her best to put it out of her head, which was a bit easier when Jennifer gave her a warm hug and a kiss which made her tingle from head to toe. And the Wiz-Vision also provided distraction when they all returned their attention to it... but not in a good way.

Following the evening news was a rather horrid hour-long game-show called Spot the Muggleborn, which invited thirteen contestants to compete in performing spells, and then to try and guess which one among themselves was a muggleborn - the winner to receive a fifty galleon prize.

Only one of the competitors was a muggleborn, who was pretending not to be, and if none of the other twelve wizards guessed right by the end of the programme, the muggleborn wizard would receive a ten galleon prize. If more than one person guessed correctly, their names were all written on a slip of parchment and dropped into a wizard’s hat, the winner to be randomly selected by the muggleborn wizard who was blindfolded for the task.

The Potters and friends only watched the episode out of sheer morbid curiosity, and all of them felt rather ill by the end of it. Next up was an hour of children’s evening programming.

“Oh no!” Harry groaned and palmed his face when he recognised the character from one of Ron’s favourite comics, The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle.

“This is dreadful!” Jennifer moaned as the cartoon character engaged in one boorish, idiotic antic after another.

“What did Ron ever see in that revolting comic?” Hermione hissed angrily.

“I dunno really... and in retrospect, I’m surprised that his mum and dad let him read it,” Harry muttered. “I have to admit, I got a bit of a laugh when I read them - but that was only because they were so stupid.”

“And why do they make this ridiculous character French?” Fleur fumed.

Nobody had a good answer for that, and everyone was thoroughly embarrassed. The detective show, Auror Morris - which launched the portion of the evening programming for adults - didn’t seem quite so awful for most of the programme, but nobody was surprised when the murderer turned out to be a muggleborn wizard.

The period drama Fly by Knight appeared to be a soap opera regaling viewers with the travails of a wealthy 15th century pureblood family - many of them brought about by their bumbling muggleborn servants. The main protagonists reminded Harry and Hermione uncomfortably of the Malfoys, but they were portrayed as tragically noble, long-suffering characters.

“That’s stupid!” Parvati grumbled crossly when one of the nieces was burned at the stake by a mob of angry muggles. “She could have just performed a flame freezing charm...”

“And even a First Year knows that nearly all of the ‘witches’ who were persecuted were actually muggles,” Luna added, rolling her eyes.

The least offensive programme that evening was The Wiz Factor, a talent show for singers which was hosted by Celestina Warbeck - but it was rather boring as all of the singers just appeared to be doing their utmost to mimic Celestina. Even Parvati, who had been very interested at first, was cringing after the first fifteen minutes of the show.

The comedy/talk show hosted by the smarmy Grayson Morton was just too much - every other bad joke was about muggles or muggleborn wizards, and Harry turned off the Wiz-Vision after ten minutes of it, sick to his stomach.

“Well... that was bloody awful!” Harry said through gritted teeth. “Looks like the only thing this is good for at the moment is keeping us up on the news - skewed as it is - and a bit of sports.”

“Why don’t you turn the regular telly back on?” said Dora, “I need to watch somethin’ fun now to cleanse my brain before we go to bed.”

“Sounds good to me,” Harry agreed, flicking to one of the guide channels on the muggle television.

“Oh look, Star Wars is going to be on in a few minutes,” said Luna, perking up. “Can we watch that please, Harry? You’ve told us so much about it...”

“Oooh, please Harry?” Parvati looked at Harry hopefully.

Harry glanced at Dora, Jennifer, and Hermione, all of whom had seen it before, but none of them had any objections. If anything, they all seemed eager to share their enjoyment of it with the other witches. Dobby made them all some popcorn, and soon the horrible Wiz-Vision shows were forgotten as everyone got sucked into the exciting space adventure.

“You were right Harry. Obi Wan is a bit like Dumbledore,” Luna giggled during a break for advertisements “...but his beard is too short.”

The Potters and the others never did make it to bed that night. They all dozed off in the parlour on the sofas with buttery fingers, the room lit only by the glow of the flickering images on the television screen.