FicWad

A/N: The opinions expressed by the Headmaster are in no way, shape, or form the opinions of the author. I personally have a live and let live policy to all persons that I encounter, and as such, I find bigotry in any form against any social, ethnic or political group to be reprehensible and evil at the very core.

Back on earth, the magical world was going to pieces over a single question: 'Where is Harry James Potter', a question that would not be answered for some time to come. Some portions of that world were more frantic than others, namely the Order of the Phoenix, while others were celebrating wildly, specifically the Dark Lord and his followers. The Order was in a right state because of Molly Weasely, who simply would not stop screeching about how she knew that Harry should not have been sent back to his relatives. A few of the assembled party simply rolled their eyes at this, for she had been one of the strongest supporters of the Headmasters 'glorious' plan for Harry. Arthur Weasely was as always passively going along with his wife, and he looked for the entire world to be the perfect definition of the word hen-pecked, which did not inspire one to look to him in any way. Nymphadora Tonks was cycling through facial features and hair colors so quickly that her head blended into one long blur, with few discernable traits staying for more than a few seconds at the most. Remus Lupin on the other hand was the picture of the state of calm, not pacing or whining about how 'I knew he shouldn't have been sent back there' and other nonsensical ravings, because he knew he had made his bed and now he had to lie in it.

Ginny Weasely, on the other hand, was much more worried about how this unfortunate occurrence would affect her plans for the future. She had worked for the better part of the last year on slowly dosing Harry with love potions, and now all of her hard work and the long hours of mind-numbing stirring of cauldrons had most likely gone to a complete waste. Even if Harry were found in the next week, which she considered extremely unlikely, she would have to start from scratch again, and she had used all her patience last year. The potions she had used on Harry were the simplest to make, but with the simplicity of production, there came an equally short half-life of sorts, but after eight months of uninterrupted dosing the effects would become mostly permanent. She had only planned to dose him long enough to get pregnant and then she would be Scot free, because are far as she knew, Harry's Gryffindor nature would not let a child he had made and the mother of the aforementioned child go to ruin. Maybe she could persuade the Headmaster to force Snape to give her the more powerful, permanent and infinitely less legal potions, and he would be able to cover for her if the authorities or Harry ever cottoned on to the plan.

Hermione Granger watched all of this with an air of dispassionate clinical observation, and if one knew her well, you could even detect the intense amusement she found from watching the barely controlled chaos of the Order Headquarters. She found the sight of Molly Weasely running about like a decapitated chicken to be one of the most amusing sights of this world, even though the sound of her voice, making its way through the octave scale every minute made one want to put her out of your misery. She knew the reason Ginny Weasely was pouting as if her favorite toy had been taken away, but for some incomprehensible rationale, please note the heavy sarcasm, she just could not bring herself to sympathize with the red-haired she-devil. She truly did not care for the way that the two youngest Weasely children took advantage of her first friend, but she was as much a prisoner as those held in the dungeons of Hogwarts, for the Headmaster forced her to be Ronald's girlfriend, much to her nausea. He had her between a rock and a hard place, she either played ball and pretended to be Ronald's loving girlfriend, or she would suddenly find herself without a home, her family or any of her memories. As much as she truly despised the unhygienic, insensitive, prejudiced specimen of swine that certain people forced her to spread her legs for, her love of her family outweighed the sheer disgust, so she grudgingly agreed to go along with the despicable actions of the headmaster.

Ronald Weasely is the typical leech one would expect to find hanging out near the boss's door just waiting for them to come out so he can make a blatantly brown-nosed remark, waiting for any scrap of praise. He saw Harry as the perfect inroad to the higher social circles, and as an easy way to gain some notoriety on the ski lift to the top of the social hierarchy mountain, but once the orphan served his purpose, he would go the way of the dodo. He only tolerated the company of the whiny little shit that was Harry because of three reasons, one: the little berk was famous; two: the berk was rich, and finally he was rich. When the Headmaster had come to his family, just before he had started Hogwarts and told them of his plans for the other boy, Ron had asked straight off, what the bottom line was for him, because he honestly did not give a shit about the rest of his family. When the twins had told him of their plan to get Harry out of the Headmasters control, they had told him in the confidence that Harry's best friend would not rat them out to either their mother or any of the other traitorous bastards that happened to be relatives. One thing they never figured on was the power of the greed that gripped their younger brother, and the fact that the old goat had the entire house under surveillance in case anybody chickened out.

The Headmaster saw all of this through the eyes of someone who it seemed had lost control of the situation, but in reality, he was giving himself a mental pat on the back, because he had conditioned these lower life forms so perfectly. The only one in his view that was a potential bump in the road was that Granger girl, but he still had her parents and younger sisters in the dungeons, so he worried very little about her and the problems she could bring. He had stolen the demon-child from the two evil beings and had saved it from a perverted upbringing by a sacrilege greater than any other, that of a man lying with a man. The mere thought of the two elves committing sodomy was enough to make him revisit his latest meal, although most of the time he was able to put on a very convincing act, complete with twinkling eyes. He could barely keep the act together at the end of the creature's first year in his school, but through time, he saw that the conditioning he had implemented was having an effect, as the child had gradually become more and more dependent on him and the others placed around him. The child never questioned the politics of his situation, nor did he examine the politics and positions pushed by his compatriots and companions, such as the underlying racism of Ron Weasely, the quasi-fascist policies implemented in various parts of the British wizarding world, or the palpable xenophobia and intolerance of free thought contaminating all facets of the magical society. This had made controlling the child much easier, and with only a few minor adjustments in personality, he would sing the praises and opinions of a corrupt society not seen since the days of Nazi Germany in 1936, with many similar policies and dispositions in the forefront. Regrettably, the child had disappeared before Dumbledore could move into the final stages of his plans, and in doing so had forced him to accelerate his timetable sufficiently to match his new goals, which also meant that when the child came back, considerably more "active" measures of control would have to emplace themselves.

Minerva McGonagall started the discussion on the problem of what to do. "Okay, now that we have heard several wild accusations against many people, somehow including the American President Andrew Jackson, what do you screaming ninnies propose we actually do? And Molly, if you open your mouth I swear to Merlin that I will turn you into something that doesn't have vocal cords, and is easy to squash under a shoe."

"Would you all kindly shut up? A plan is being formulated at this time, and when that plan is formulated, we will release it to those who need to know when they need to know it." Thankfully, the master of governmental double-speaking, Arthur Weasely, stepped in and said unequivocally nothing while speaking very loudly, a trait which all politicians seem to possess, along with an innate sense of how to do the least helpful thing in any given situation.

"Would you explain exactly what you just said, or are you in the habit of speaking whatever drivel decides to dribble out of your mouth? In either case don't answer, it was a rhetorical question anyway." This came from the resident spy, who looked nothing like James Bond or Mata Hari, and he dressed like neither, as the former was out of his price range and the latter would cause nightmares.

"Now Severus, you really should behave and at the very least cooperate with those you work with, because it makes everything so much nicer and it makes you a more likable person." The Headmaster, who had slipped back into his lighthearted personality, propagated this pompous pontification promptly, with only perfunctory concern given to the outcome.

"Albus, I have told you many times, sometimes to the point where I want to stab you with a blade with the message etched into it. I. DON'T. WANT. TO. BE. NICE. Now, must I spell that out letter by bloody letter, or will you let sleeping dogs lie? You know what, screw you guys, I'm going home."

He was out the door before anybody could think of stopping him, and the speed with which he took his leave stunned all those present.

When they had recovered, several choice opinions found themselves expressed, from the boorish and obscene coming from the youngest male Weasely, to the shock that only a person of superior age can attain from Minerva McGonagall. Molly decided to corral the 'youthful enthusiasm' her second youngest showed so often, although she did nothing to alter the content of the aforementioned enthusiasm, either because at the age of 53 years she had found it to be a futile gesture, or she was tired of trying.

"Ronald Bilius Weasely! Watch your language or I'll... I'll... I'll sic the twins on you, with a carte blanche to boot," she thundered in the most menacing voice and posture she could muster, Normally she would not use this ultimate of trump cards so early in the game, but at the present, her nerves were running as well as an Edsel, and her patience had nearly the flight time of the Hindenburg during its final mooring. A very quiet and passive Ron took his seat and started to stare at his twiddling thumbs, praying to Merlin and Hecate that his mother did not notice him again, at least until the storm clouds above her head had disappeared far into the distance.

"Thank you for that show of serenity Molly, however loud that display may have been. Now getting onto the business I called you all here to deliberate: what do we do about our Mr. Potter, who seems kidnapped by the Dark Lord or one of his agents?"

"What the bloody hell do you mean, 'what to do about Harry?' We find him, rescue him and bring him back to where he is safe with a guard protecting him." This fiery statement came from Tonks, who had broken out of her stupor when Mt. Molly decided to erupt in full glory.

"Admirable sentiments, but just how do you propose to discover the whereabouts of Mr. Potter, Hm? I am quite sure that asking the Dark Lord would be no help even if you somehow managed to make within earshot of him, for he will most likely be either very facetious and dismissive or very angry that no one informed him sooner. Finally, thanks to Mr. Personality over here, our resident spy has taken a French leave, leaving us with not even an indirect line of communiqué with the enemy, something that can be very valuable in a situation such as this." Kingsley Shacklebolt, who until this time been mostly silent, decided to vent the frustrations building within him in a semi-controlled manner, albeit in a quite sarcastic vein.

"Well I'm sorry Captain Obvious, but perhaps instead of pointing out the many flaws and difficulties in my proposed plan of action, you could help figure out how to get our savoir to safety. If you would be so kind as to give your plan to retrieve the object of our collective attentions, I am quite sure that it would have none of the glaring flaws that mine had," by the time she was finished you could almost see the steam rising from her ears, and her death glare was almost as chilling as the Artic in January.

"No. I have neither a plan nor the proclivity to invent one, although frankly I think Harry is a big boy who can take care of himself, as shown by his exploits in the past. Remember that he has gotten out of worse spots, and those often were involved with the Dark Lord, and with some sort of factor that would defeat even people as experienced as Mad Eye, who is no easy fish to fry. So I say we all stop worrying about him as if he is some toddler who has found a poisonous reptile, and start taking into consideration that he can easily take good care of himself, without a massive waste of resources." As he finished, an air of finality hung in the room, broken only when he made for the exit with powerful strides, the pleas for him to remain left unheeded.

The rest of the meeting quickly devolved from there, with end result being that many things were said, proposed and voted on, but as in every form of government, nothing was actually done, with little prospect of any action in the near future.