Chapters 51-60

The Art of Looking for Trouble

Minerva McGonagall had stayed at Number 12, Grimmauld Place for the night. For better or worse, Sirius’ old home was the headquarters of the Order, and Harry, in spite of his youth, her second-in-command. That role should have fallen to Severus, but not even the public display of his memories at his trial had sufficed to dispel the distrust of the wizarding society towards him. She suppressed a sigh. Even some Order members still held on to their grudges where Snape was concerned.

There was much she had to discuss with Harry—at yet another breakfast meeting.

And when, Minerva wondered, had Harry turned into a morning person? More often than not he’d looked like something the cat just dragged in at the breakfast table during his student days.

But in the kitchen an astonishingly bright-eyed, if not exactly bushy-tailed Harry awaited her at a table laden with an even more lavish breakfast than she was accustomed to from Hogwarts. Noticing her frown, Harry shrugged helplessly.

‘Kreacher thinks I need to eat more,’ he explained and proceeded to heap bacon, eggs, tomatoes and toast on his plate. Minerva glanced at the young man’s lean figure. A good thing Harry had inherited James’ active metabolism.

‘Well, Harry,’ Minerva said finally, eyeing him over the rim of her tea cup.

How a nice cup of Darjeeling never failed to improve her outlook on the world of a morning! And thankfully, as opposed to whisky, tea was a truly universal panacea to be enjoyed at any hour of the day or night.

Harry lifted an eyebrow at her. ‘Well, Minerva,’ he mimicked her, almost as disrespectfully as Albus (God rest his soul) had done.

She sniffed slightly and put her cup down. ‘You offered to give me an appraisal of the situation at the Ministry. Now would be a good opportunity to do so. I suggest you do not waste our time.’

That got his attention. ‘Channelling our dear Potions Master this morning, are you?’

But he put down his cup as well, his expression serious. ‘The situation is getting out of control, Minerva. You have no idea. We’ve been able to keep some of the incidents from the press so far, but with the likes of Rita Skeeter breathing down our necks, you can imagine just how long that will last. When everything gets out, we’ll have an all-out panic on our hands.
‘We don’t have enough manpower to put watch-wizards with each family that has Muggle-born members. And the Aurors are always too late on the scene. Merlin’s ballocks, sometimes we arrive when the air is still glowing green with that damn curse, Minerva! They know we’re coming almost before we’ve left the Ministry.
‘You know what that means.’

‘An informant,’ Minerva said at once, the cold weight of dread settling into the pit of her stomach. ‘Someone—or several someones—at the Ministry is collaborating with the Enemy.’

‘Maybe even within the Office of Aurors,’ Harry added. Brandishing a fork with a piece of bacon at her, Harry continued, ‘Unfortunately there is also a very clear pattern to the killings. It all comes down to blood. They kill families. And only families with one or both parents of Muggle origins. Singles and unmarried couples or couples without children they are leaving alone so far. Apart from Voldemort’s followers, that fits the agenda of quite a number of pureblood hate-groups.
‘Though what is really the most disconcerting about the whole thing is how methodical and cold-blooded they are. They only want to kill. They don’t torture, they don’t bother with destruction of property. They go in to kill, and only to kill.
‘The Ministry is at the end of their wits…and so am I, for that matter.’

For a while the kitchen was completely silent save for the sound of Harry making short work of his breakfast.

There was really not much that could diminish a young wizard’s appetite, Minerva mused. For her part, the older witch was reduced to nervously stirring her tea. The bowl of porridge in front of her remained untouched.

‘I hear that a faction of the Wizengamot is already clamouring for a Muggle-borns protection act,’ Minerva said.

Harry nodded. His first forays into the murky waters of magical politics had been incredibly frustrating. Politicians seemed to distrust heroes about as much as traitors, and contrary to Dumbledore, Minerva’s voice carried little to no political clout in the Wizengamot. Additionally, in a society where 150 was regarded as really too young to die, the voice of anyone below the age of fifty simply wasn’t taken quite seriously.

‘They want to re-open the Muggle-born Registration Commission. This time to protect all Muggle-born witches and wizards. You can imagine the toad’s glee.’ Harry shuddered.

Umbridge’s background of a well-respected pureblood family and along with her excellent connections at the Ministry and the Wizengamot had once again saved her neck, much to his chagrin. ‘The mere thought that she can get at Hermione because of her apprenticeship makes my blood run cold! And I can assure you that the very idea of Snape at her mercy causes me nightmares.

‘Though I would appreciate it if you do not share that particular detail with him,’ he added at his driest. Then he sighed. ‘No offence, Minerva, but Shacklebolt is too good a man for his office. As is Arthur.’

‘I am sure that both of them would be the first to agree with you.’

‘Ha!’ Harry cried, amused. ‘Unfortunately that doesn’t help us right now.’

Energetically he pushed the empty plate away. ‘At least I’ve already managed to make the Wizengamot deeply regret their decision to give me a seat in the aftermath of the victory. We must be grateful for small mercies, I suppose.
‘Andromeda and Draco have been a lot of help. However, if you don’t mind, I should like to accompany you to Hogwarts today. I urgently need to consult Dumbledore’s portrait about the upcoming session.’