And Malice Toward None

* * *

Harry's last ride on the Hogwarts' Express just kept getting more and more interesting, and all he could do was hope that it would please stop.

He'd sent his Patronus forward to warn Dumbledore, although he knew no one could Portkey or Apparate onto the train. Following that, Harry spent a tense half-hour helping to fix the myriad holes he'd blown through the train walls, and calming the students. It turned out Ginny just couldn't deal with the damage on her own, as the magics that allowed the train to move resisted her spells fairly stubbornly. In her capacity as Head Girl, Hermione was doing exactly the same thing Harry was, as was Head Boy Justin Finch-Fletchly. Harry has asked Hermione and Justin to leave the Slytherin's ruined compartment as it was, in the event there was some evidence to be found in the debris.

Nonetheless, the three of them were getting increasingly tense as the realities of the situation ground down upon them. Despite the positions and badges, a great many of the younger students just wouldn't accept Hermione's or Justin's words of comfort and assurance. Over and over, they had to call Harry in to repeat the exact same platitudes they'd used, only to find compartment after compartment accept his dicta as law. Justin had pulled Harry into the passageway to snap at him in a harshly controlled whisper when it happened.

"Damn it Potter! I'm Head Boy, not you!" Justin tugged on Harry's arm, pulling him toward the rubble of the ruined compartment, where no one would overhear. "You've got to stop this, or the younger one's won't listen to their Prefects!"

"I'm not doing anything!" Harry's eyes blazed. "You think I want-"

In a rush of hot wind and harsh light, flames burst into existence in the midst of the wrecked compartment Pansy had chosen for her last stand. The flames quickly expanded into a ball before disappearing just as quickly. Headmaster Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey dropped an inch to the smoking and torn carpeting as Fawlkes released his passengers before disappearing in an abbreviated bolt of flame. The two looked over to where Harry had his wand trained on them, his free hand holding Justin down and behind cover.

"Professor Dumbledore," Finch-Fletchly called out. "Thank goodness you're-"

"Tell me something only we'd know," Harry interrupted.

"What?" Justin goggled up at Harry. "Are you deranged? That's the headmaster and Chief Justice of the Wizengamot you're holding a wand on!"

"I'm afraid Mister Potter's caution isn't misplaced." Dumbledore smiled gently, then turned to look at the shattered window and unconscious Death Eaters behind him. A firm hand reached out to hold Madam Pomfrey in check, before she could bend to treat the injured. "Poppy, a moment please whist we identify ourselves as being ourselves, and not Tom's followers under the cover of Polyjuice.

"Harry, at the end of last year I told you that reasons to give your life were scattered liberally around, and very easy to find. The reasons to fight and live freely are the important ones."

Harry nodded, but kept his wand up.

Madam Pomfrey exhaled loudly. "Now can I treat my patients?"

"You next, Madam Pomfrey." Harry's voice was kind and polite, but his wand didn't waver.

"Me next? But Professor Dumbledore-" At the hard look she received from one of her charges, the kindly Mediwitch's eyes eyes narrowed. "Fine, Mister Potter. If you insist on having the healer who's treated every broken bone for seven years go through this ridiculous charade, I can can mange quite well, thank you. You've a birthmark and three moles in very delicate location that, when viewed from the side look like-"

"That's good, Madam Pomfrey!" Harry lifted his wand with a sudden jerk, holding his other hand up to forestall her, and talking both fast and loud.

"Are you quite sure?" The Mediwitch tipped her head to one side. "I'd hate to leave you doubting me, if I didn't put your mind to rest."

"No, we're good here!"

She looked like she had more to say, but instead turned and dropped to the floor in order to attend the wounded.

Dumbledore patted her shoulder and turned to the Head Boy. "Well done, Mister Finch-Fletchly. I can see you've left this compartment as it was, and started work on the rest of the train. Good thinking. If you and Miss Granger can continue as you were and keep the younger students reassured, Mister Potter and I will see to the safe delivery of the train to Hogwarts without further.... interruption."

"Of course, Pro... Professor." Justin trailed off, as the Headmaster and Harry hurried off in the direction of the front of train, and he found himself talking to air that tasted like smoke. "I'll just keep doing what I can, here."

At the front of the train, Dumbledore ran a hand over the wood paneling that blocked the corridor at the head the first carriage. For the first time, Harry found himself noting how thin the skin stretched along his bony hand was, and how despite the power and assurance in his gestures, deep blue veins were visible spidering down, disappearing into the Headmaster's sleeve.

Suddenly the paneling split and peeled back to reveal a brass-sheathed sliding door. Through a small sand cast brass grill, Harry could see the scarlet steam engine bouncing and rocking some six feet away. Dumbledore turned to Harry with a smile. "Alas, it isn't as impressive as it appears. Much like the castle itself, the train simply recognizes those who should come and go, and makes the adjustments itself."

The Headmaster slid the door open, and the pulsing roar of the engine and squealing clatter of the wheels on the track rolled over them. Coils of hot, wet steam whipped around and past the two of them, and Dumbledore's long white beard and hair joined the steam in whipping about wildly. "A great deal of my authority comes from the seemingly mysterious exercise of simplest of things without offering explanation. I'm sure there's some sort of lesson there, Harry."

A wide and somewhat childlike smile crossed his face, and the old Headmaster turned and leapt across the huge iron fittings that linked the engine to the train of carriages behind it. He tapped the engineer's door at the rear of the engine, and it slid open revealing a darkened doorway, which he slipped into quickly.

Harry looked down at the track racing past his feet, then across to the landing on the engine opposite him. "I suppose it's got to go better the second time."

Harry jumped across without incident, and let out the breath he was unaware he'd been holding. He slipped inside the engineer's room, and closed the door to block out the noise and steam. Turning, he found the Headmaster on one knee, deep in whispered conversation with a handful of House Elves. There was no forward wall in the engineer's compartment; instead a vast steel boiler painted the same scarlet as the outside of the engine dominated the tiny room. The only fittings in the simple wood and steel compartment were a scant handful of brass gauges and pipes, a pair of simple windows that faced the sides of the train, and a pair of brass levers projecting upwards through the floor. There wasn't a stick of furniture to be found. Ignoring the much taller intruders, three more House Elves were busy using their own innate magic to stoke the fires of the Express' boiler.

Harry gave them all a respectful distance, waiting for Dumbledore to rise slowly and turn back to him. The Headmaster pulled Harry close, and leaned in. "Somewhat obviously, the path the Express follows can be found by anyone who chooses to look carefully. The station in Hogsmeade is outside the school's wards, and thus outside the safety provided there. Indeed, the very time of our arrival is well known. Those of Tom's men who recovered from your abrupt expulsion of their Portkey Targets will have by now reported back that their attack on the train was a resounding failure. I should think it wise to avoid giving our adversaries any more easy targets, and so it would be best if we arrived unexpectedly."

"But how can we-" Harry began before cutting himself off abruptly. "You're not going to levitate the train, are you?"

"Heavens no, my boy!" Dumbledore leaned down. "It's far too heavy to be lifted for more than a short while, even if one happens to be rather good at overly dramatic bits of magic. Also, I should think a gently floating train would be as good a target as one at ground level."

"Then how...?"

"We simply have to arrive at Hogsmeade a good deal earlier than expected." Dumbledore's thick eyebrows raised significantly, and Harry knew that the Headmaster already had a plan of action. Moreover, he very clearly expected Harry to puzzle it out.

Harry glanced around the engineer's compartment for a clue, knowing that there had to be some reason for coming here. But there was little to look at other than the House Elves tending to the boiler.

The boiler...

"Steam," Harry muttered to himself. He barely noticed as the Headmaster nodded. "The train runs on steam. The more steam, the faster the engine goes. So we... Incendio?"

"Exactly." Dumbledore patted Harry's shoulder, and pointed a gnarled finger at the open boiler door the Elves were busied with. "The hottest fire you can conjure, please. We'll test the charms work holding the engine together. Headmaster Astlercork was very proud of his work, and I think it's about time we give this engine a chance to prove that his pride was well placed."

"Wait!" His eyes felt as wide as his glasses. "'Holding the engine together?'"

"Indeed." The Headmaster pointed to the bolts the size of crabapples that ringed the boiler from roof to floor. "The steam that pushes this train forward also tries to tear the boiler apart, rather a bit like a muggle bomb The bolts and rivets are, alas, not decorative in the slightest. Those gauges over there describe the pressure in the boiler, and that one the speed. I have every reason to believe you can get a rather more speed out of this engine than is usual. It is an Express, after all."

"Me?"

"Yes." Dumbledore removed his spectacles and tucked them into the folds of his robe before pulling out a beaded thong and binding his beard into something not unlike a girl's pony tail. "While you accelerate the engine, I'll be at the door behind us. The twin tasks of holding the train cars together and keeping them on the track should be... finicky."

"Finicky."

"Quite." The Headmaster drew his wand, and with a second thong bound his hand to the polished wooden haft. "Perhaps the next time we do this, you'll handle this set of charms. But for now, why don't you start on the fires, hmm?"

Harry turned to the boiler, and muttered, "I'm pretty sure we won't live long enough to try this again."

Harry knelt down, and turned to the House Elves. "You might want to, er, pop back to Hogwarts. Apparently this might blow up."

All of the House Elves looked offended at the suggestion, but only one spoke up in a reedy, piping voice. "We is staying where we is needed. We is House Elves. The Red Engine will not 'blow up!'"

Harry nodded. "Alright then. Best back up though. Incendio!"

And with that the fires in in the boiler leapt higher, going so far as to shoot out of the coal hatch. He noticed the fires were rapidly shifting from reddish-yellow to a nearly pure white. Then the sweat began to hit his eyes, and his vision became progressively fuzzier.

Harry had never used this spell for anything but lighting a fireplace or a candle, tasks for which the spell was applied and abruptly stopped. Holding one's wand on a candle for a moment too long due to inattentiveness was a surefire way to reduce a reading light to a pool of wax on Madam Pince's ancient library trestle tables. This usually ended in a three hour stint cleaning the darkest recesses of the library without magic, and never forgetting to cut one's Incendio off promptly again. For the first time, Harry discovered how much more difficult it was trying to keep the spell going for minutes at a time.

He swiped his eyes clear of sweat, and tried looking for the polished brass gauges Dumbledore had pointed out earlier but all Harry could see was the endless blackness of the corners of the compartment, and the unrelieved burning white light of the open boiler itself.

"Harry!" Hearing his name, he turned to look over his shoulder, and saw the Headmaster wreathed in a blue nimbus, tendrils of light arcing and snapping away from his wand to shoot down the length of the train on some unseen task. "I'm afraid we need rather more speed. Perhaps it's time to try a more... inflammable spell."

"Yes, Professor!" Harry cut his Incendio off, and the flames quickly died down to their former yellow. He snapped his wand up to his shoulder, then down sharply and to the left. "Inflamare!"

Instantly the heat slammed into Harry like a solid wall, or like some malicious living thing. The walls wavered unsteadily through the superheated air, and the backs of his hands and his face felt burnt by the flames as they licked and jumped out of the square coal hatch. The heat shot straight down his throat, burning his nose and lungs, and all Harry could taste was coal and ash. To his right, something cracked with a tinkle of broken glass, and a thin jet of steam shot forth from what was once a gauge. The jet diminished and finally stopped as a pair of House Elves worked over it energetically.

Harry didn't have to worry about wiping the sweat from his face, as it was now evaporating quicker than he could sweat. Small, nimble fingers fastened a blue and white striped cloth over his nose and mouth, and Harry looked around to see the House Elves had all donned similar kerchiefs to hold the roaring heat at bay. He shook his head, and redoubled his efforts on the Inflamare charm.

Suddenly Harry was thrown to one side of the compartment, and the flickering magics tying him to the engine vanished. He turned to see Professor Dumbledore braced in the doorway of the wildly tilted compartment, bluish bolts shooting out from his wand just as fast as he could move it. Harry grabbed the edge of the engineer's window, and pulled himself upright. Looking out, he could see that the steel and wood tracks were ripping themselves up from the sodden Scottish peat and swinging up and to the side to catch the train as it barreled forward far faster than he could have imagined. The tracks racked a bit under a jolt of magical energy, and the heaving scarlet engine swung back upright with a screech of over stressed steel.

"Just a bit more speed, my boy!"

For his part, Harry had to give the Headmaster at least a momentary glare as he wondered if the old man had at last lost it completely. From the matching stares of the House Elves, he wasn't alone in wondering. But Harry dutifully scrabbled back into position before the great scarlet boiler.

He couldn't think of a more potent spell than Inflamare, and wished that Hermione was there with him. He thought that if anyone had read a book like 101 Incredibly Obscure Spells for Firing An Antique Boiler on a Runaway Victorian Train, it would most likely be her. He shook his head, and thought harder. Spells all seemed to use the same rules, or at least versions of the same rules. He needed to think of a way of making a spell stronger.

He knew Lumos Maxima, which was a vastly brighter version of the normal light spell. He also knew Protego Maximus, which was a more difficult and more effective shielding spell than the usual Protego. Maybe Maximus or Maxima would allow him to fire the boiler hotter than just Inflamare. The problem was, he didn't know which to use. Harry rolled the words around inside his head, tasting them all. In the end, he decided to go with what sounded best to him.

"Inflamare Maxima!" Harry yelled it as loud as he could, and for a long second nothing happened. And then pulsing and flaring light gathered around his wand, and reached out ever so slowly toward the coal hatch in absolute silence. Once the pulsing light touched the licking flames, the silence was broken by a sudden, deafening roar. The magical light surged through the firebed of the boiler, and alarmingly the flames leapt up the beam to lick and flicker around Harry's wand. Then the roar built to a screech, and it felt like Harry himself was on fire, the heat from the engine was so great. The sudden waves of heat and exhaustion drove Harry to the deck, and the flames now surrounding his wand scared him, but he kept the spell going, even as the last of the gauges shattered and screamed around him.

Peering into the fire, it seemed to Harry that the once square coal hatch now turned jagged, like a great fanged mouth belching fire straight into him. Shadows danced around him, and dragging his attention away from the flames, they resolved themselves into House Elves, popping into and out of existence as they used their magic to keep the great bolts holding the boiler together from flying off. From the single glowing hole at ten o'clock, it looked as if the first of the bolts had already surrendered.

Harry dropped lower still, both hands holding his jumping and shaking wand, propped up only by his elbows on the scorching deck of the engineer's compartment.

With a screech and a ping, a second bolt gave way, and punched a hand-sized hole in the side of the compartment. A torrent of steam spilled forth to fill the compartment, and Harry couldn't breath as the air itself started to cook everyone there.

"Reparo," Harry croaked, his lungs burning. The hole sealed itself off, the light of the boiler no longer visible through through it. A second, more choking Reparo patched the first snapped bolt, and Harry managed to clear the air wordlessly, no longer certain he could say a spell aloud.

Rough hands caught him, and touched his throat. Indistinctly, he saw a trio of House Elves muttering, and his burning throat and tightened lungs suddenly loosened, the pain slipping away. He pushed himself up on his elbows again, and saw that the engineer crew had caught him and somehow managed to heal the burns from the steam.

One of the House Elves spoke up, his reedy voice roughened by the steam and smoke. "We is saying, our Red Engine is not to be 'blowing up.'"

"Well done," Dumbledore called from the doorway, and Harry couldn't miss the exhaustion in his voice. "We're should be arriving two hours early, and mostly intact."

"Mostly," Harry croaked.

"Don't fall asleep, Harry. You still need to stop the train."

Harry looked toward the doorway, where the blue lines of energy were uncoiling from the Headmaster more slowly now, and sluggishly twirling off towards their assigned tasks further down the train. Professor Dumbledore was very clearly hanging onto one of the handrails to keep himself erect, and Harry knew he would be on his own stopping the train.

He pushed himself to his feet, and decided to blame his swaying and staggering on the unpredictable jostling of the train. He fetched up against a wall near the House Elves, and crouched down nose to nose with one of them. "When do we have to slow down?"

The Elves conferred a moment. "Five miles ago," one yelled back shrilly over the squealing wheels.

"Right." Harry came to his feet as the train bounced back to port. "So we're rogered."

The House Elves busied themselves with the brake levers, and tortured squeals filled the compartment as the pads overheated almost instantly. Harry stuck his head out one of the windows, and saw yellow sparks leaping from the huge steel wheels up and down the length of the train. In places, a dull red glow issued from under the carriages.

Harry yelled back to the House Elves. "I don't think pushing harder on the brakes will do anything."

The talkative elf yelled back from where he had his shoulder to one of the levers and his feet dug into the wall opposite. "No, it be doing a great many things! Very bad things!"

"Right," Harry muttered to himself. "So what would Dumbledore do right now?"

The first thing that came to mind was that he'd probably let Harry deal with it, since that seemed to work most of the time. Harry shook the thought off as uncharitable, and tried to focus on the more impressive things he'd seen the Headmaster do over the years. He knew there had to be something there, if only he could remember it. Harry knew Professor Dumbledore wouldn't leave this for him to handle without knowing he could succeed. Then he remembered something.

Harry remembered being freezing cold, and soaking wet. He'd been on the verge of unconsciousness, a horrible scream echoing in his ears, but he heard the Headmaster shout out a spell as if from very, very far away. Come to think of it, the spell had come from very far away. Harry had been falling from a dizzying height at the time...

Harry offered a silent thanks to Ms. Aedernams for the contact lenses, as loosing his glasses was the one thing he wasn't going to have to worry about as he threw one of the engineer's windows wide open. "This is so not a good idea."

Harry tucked his wand into his pocket, and started climbing out the window. There was some commotion in the compartment behind him, but he couldn't hear it over the roar of the wind and the screech of the wheels. Harry ducked his head, eyes tightly shut, and felt his clothes battering and slapping at him. As he pulled his legs through the tiny window, the wind nearly plucked him from the train and pulled him aloft. Instead Harry clutched the wall of the cabin with both hands and let his feet blindly scrabble to find purchase on the narrow gangway that surmounted the wheels. Finally achieving some measure of stability, Harry pried one hand free from the wall to fumble for his wand. He couldn't afford to drop it now, even as the front wheels kicked sparks up and over him. Behind him flickering blue energy still arced over and along the length of the train, sent forth by the Headmaster's wand.

Despite the blurriness of a world seen squinting through a windstorm, Harry could still see the gingerbread roofline of Hogsmeade ahead of the train. If this was going to work, it would have to work now.

Harry leveled his wand at the great train and yelled. "Arresto Momentum!"

The first of the Tudor buildings whipped past him as the heaving, sparking train slowed. The wind ripped at him, and Harry knew they were still hurtling down the tracks much faster than they should. He caught a glimpse of more than one wide-mouthed white face staring at the train as it blew through the small town. Harry frantically tried to recall the Hogsmeade station. No matter how often he'd been there, he'd never thought to notice the tracks. Did they continue on past the town, or dead end there?

Harry decided he didn't like the phrase 'dead end.'

With a bit more of a flourish, Harry brandished his wand and yelled again, "Arresto Momentum!"

Now hanging tiredly from the train, Harry tried again and again as the train passed the buildings slower and slower. The sparks died down along with the wind, until only the squealing of the brakes remained. With a final crunch the train came to a halt, and great plumes of steam erupted from the engine all about him.

Harry looked forward, and saw that the wooden trestle marking the end of the line was stove in by the prow of the engine, and the front wheels were some eight feet from the end of the tracks themselves. Harry looked up at the compartment window over his head, and decided against trying to climb back in. Instead he figured he could just sit still for a little bit. He heaved a great, tired sigh and lowered himself to sit upon the gangplank, back against the great scarlet engine itself.

He just needed a moment to catch his breath.

Justin Finch-Fletchly appeared through the steam, herding the younger students toward the carriages that would take them to the safety of the castle's walls and wards. His charges slowed to an awed and whispering halt, staring wide-eyed up at Harry on the Express' engine. Harry couldn't help but note the crowd managed to form a good four metres away from him as usual.

"What's the hold up here?" Justin's Eton enunciation was as clear as ever as he shuffled through the herd of youngsters on the platform. "What do you- Harry? What are you doing on the engine? How did we get here early?"

"Just get everyone into the castle," Harry answered wearily. "I'm just catching my breath. I'll be along in a moment."

"But how did we-" Justin trailed off, paling despite the two spots of high colour on his cheeks. "I see. Everyone! Keep moving! Everyone move in an orderly line to the carriages! This way!"

Thankfully, Justin's terribly loud voice disappeared into the clouds of steam along with the first crowd of students. A few more prefects passed Harry, escorting Hogwarts students toward the safety of the castle as he rested against the engine.

Finally feeling a little more normal, Harry stood up and poked his head into the engine compartment. "Professor Dumbledore! Are you still in here?"

The Headmaster's voice was incredibly soft and worn. "Most definitely. And here I shall remain for a bit longer. I haven't your youth to see me through leaping to my feet again after such a foolhardy display of raw magic. I think I'll rest a bit longer here."

"Are you alright?" That had Harry's brow furrowed with worry.

"Certainly, my boy." Despite the obvious exhaustion in his voice, Harry could hear the laughter too. "I'm tired, not dead. But if you wouldn't mind directing Madam Pomfrey here, I think I could do with one of her Pepper-Up Potions. Never mind the unfortunate effect they have on my beard."

Reenergized by his concern for his mentor, Harry leapt down from the engine and wove through the press of students still heading for the carriages. He craned and twisted his head, searching for the Mediwitch amongst the throng of students being chivved none too gently toward the castle. Finally, he caught sight of Madam Pomfrey's distinctive white whipple through the crowd, escorting two unconscious forms bobbing horizontally behind her.

Harry ran up, skidding to a stop in front of the Hogwarts matron. "Madam Pomfrey! Professor Dumbledore's in the engineer's compartment and he needs a Pepper-Up potion."

The Mediwitch gestured toward Pansy and the handless Death Eater floating behind her. "Mister Potter! I've two seriously injured patients right here. I'm afraid the Headmaster's need for a potion will have to wait until I've stabilized these two."

"I s'pect you got two attempted murderers here, really. An' one o' the biggest wands in the castle 'o needs 'elp." Goyle cleared his throat from one side, where he was helping a limping Crabbe toward a carriage. "I'm just sayin' is all."

One of the Ravenclaws from Harry's Mediwizard Seminar, Veruca, spoke up. "Madam Pomfrey? Harry and I can get these two up to hospital."

The pinched and worried Mediwitch heaved a great, shoulder shaking sigh. "Oh, very well! I expect to see them in bed and recovering when I get there!"

Veruca nodded, but Madam Pomfrey was already bundling off towards the steam engine, her potions bag clasped under her bosom. Veruca leaned over Pansy's unconscious and floating body, leaning a hand on the Death Eater's face as she whispered. "We are going to be chaining them to those beds, though, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry whispered back, still watching Poppy stalk off.

"An I'm gettin' me leg worked on by Lord McBlows-Things-Up," Crabbe grumbled from his position hanging off Goyle. "You just leave a roof on the place when yer done wit me."

Veruca rolled her eyes. "I'll handle it, Slytherin. What'd you do, trip while running for the sweets cart?"

"Threw the last bloke what miffed me out a window, luv." Crabbe eyed the tiny Ravenclaw up and down. "You know wot yer doin'?"

She snorted at him. "Do you?"

A wide grin split Crabbe's round face. "Never!"

Veruca rolled her eyes at Harry. "And I thought it was you Gryffs that would give me grey hair!"

The diminutive Ravenclaw waved her wand, and the two unconscious Death Eaters drifted along after her. Harry and the two Slytherins hurried to catch up.

Goyle leaned over to whisper at Harry. "Granger, Cho, Weasley, Lovegood, Delacour and now Salt up there. You know any birds wot ain't real lookers?"

"What?" Harry blinked and looked up at the tall, curly haired Slytherin. He noticed that Goyle kept shooting sidelong looks at Veruca. "Got yourself a new fancy, have you?"

"Well, she can slap Crabbe here around pretty easy. I like that, if you know what I mean."

"No, I don't," was Crabbe's response. "First yet holdin' me 'and, now yer sayin' you like wotchin' me get slapped aroun'. Is there somethin' you ain't tellin' me, Greg?"

Goyle shot a venomous look at his friend. "You want me to drop you?"

"Not really." Crabbe grinned.

Goyle grimaced briefly, before switching to an oddly earnest expression. "'S like she could give as good as she gets, you know?"

"An' I say that still sounds pretty pouffy." Crabbe spat onto the train platform.

"Oy! You want to hear all about me manliness, I can tell you stories about me an' every one o' your girlfriends!"

"Stories is about right," Crabbe answered in his slow, thick voice. "You want the truth, I'll tell you about me an' yer mum."

Harry tried very hard to tune out the rest of their conversation on the way up to the castle. He kept a weather eye out for Hermione, but she was nowhere to be seen. Given how many students appeared to have already made it to the castle proper, it wasn't much of a stretch to figure that she had already escorted a fair bit of the student body inside. Harry decided to pick up the pace as much as he could.

They had nearly limped to the towering entryway to the Great Hall when Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep blue Auror robes swept from the castle towards them. He cast tight eyes around the grounds before addressing them directly. "Potter, where's the Headmaster? He's supposed to be here."

"He's still on the train, sir." Although the Auror robes didn't mean as much to him as they used to, Shaklebolt's role in the Order still earned him a reflexive 'sir' from Harry. "He's exhausted, sir, and Madam Pomfrey is looking after him."

Kingsley flicked his wand discretely by his side, and two white bolts shot into the castle. Keeping his wand in his hand, he gestured impatiently for the students to move faster. "I'm not too thrilled with you being in this meeting without the Headmaster, Potter, but he was insistent you should be there. And the Minister moved the time at the last minute, I'm sure to keep you both out of it. Now come on!"

"Hang on," Harry said in confusion as he helped lift Crabbe up the stairs. "What meeting?"

Auror Shacklebolt seemed disinclined to answer, but before Harry could press the point, Professor McGonagall, Tonks, and a handful of Aurors joined them on the landing outside the main castle doors. Instead he pointed his wand toward the distant gates to Hogwarts. "Auror Tonks, take two men and make sure the Headmaster and the school's nurse make it safely inside the wards. And Tonks? Hurry."

The bubbly Auror was unusually subdued as she and a pair of officers headed off at a distance-consuming jog.

"I assume I was summoned to escort my students to the Hospital Wing, then?" From her tone and the sour look she shot the imposing Auror, Harry could tell that she was very pointedly not saying that he needn't have summoned her.

"If you don't mind, Minerva, I need to get Potter up to the Headmaster's Office." Shacklebolt swept Harry forward with a hand on his shoulder.

The Deputy Headmistress blinked in surprise. "Kingsley! Surely it can wait until the Headmaster gets here?"

"No, it can't. Minister Weasley's started already."

Professor McGonagall's lips thinned still further, but she turned to Harry and stepped in close. "Mister Potter, the phrase you must use is 'I speak with the full faith and confidence of the Supreme Mugwump Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore as his Legate.' Remember this, you must introduce yourself as his Legate! Now, follow Kingsley, Harry."

Kingsley winced. "Is that wise, Minerva?"

"If you need Mister Potter in that meeting and you cannot wait even minutes, it remains the only way." Professor McGonagall drew herself up stiffly. "Unless you can delay the Minister, Kingsley."

"Right. Let's go Potter." Shacklebolt propelled Harry ahead of him at a dead run, and over the echoes of their shoes on the flagstones, Harry distinctly heard Kingsley mutter. "And Merlin help the Wizarding world."

They only slowed down to catch their breath on the moving staircase sweeping them up toward Dumbledore's office. Harry finally braced the imposing Auror, as both of them panted to catch their breath. "Okay, what's all this about? A meeting with the Minister? I don't think he likes me very much, and I don't really want to talk to him either."

"Not a meeting with the Minister, Potter, though he'll be there." Kingsley used his wand to clean Harry up and and Transfigure his school sweater into a charcoal jacket with an unfamiliar crest on its chest. "The Headmaster's been trying to bring the Internationals in to help us with the Death Eaters. Minister Weasley is trying to keep them out, and he managed to move the meeting times up in order to block Dumbledore from attending. I've no idea how the old man got the Express here in time."

"Long story," Harry muttered. "So you want me to meet with these... Internationals. Like, Amabssadors?"

Kingsley made a futile effort to tidy Harry's black mop of hair. "I want to execute Dumbledore's orders to negotiate for international aid. That means getting you in there, to draw them into this fight."

"I have no idea what to do." Harry looked up wide eyed at Kingsley as the stairs deposited them in front of the Headmaster's doorway.

"The Minister's already driven away the French, Spanish, and Italian delegations. After talking to him for an hour, they all want to quarantine the Isles and be done with it. Just try to get help from whoever we can still meet with. Buy time for Dumbledore to get here. Don't promise anyone anything. And don't antagonize Weasley any more than you have to."

With that the senior Auror opened the door and thrust Harry into the office. For the first time in his life, Harry had to work to keep from stumbling as he entered the Headmaster's antechamber.

Harry's abrupt arrival didn't seem to draw the slightest bit of attention from the various wizards in the room. Minister Weasley stood with his back to the door, deep in close conversation with three other men, obviously from foreign ministries. A further two wizards, very nearly dressed as Muggles, sat in the Headmaster's squashy armchairs and pretended not to care about the negotiations that they weren't involved in. Harry shook his head, and focused on trying to figure out who was who.

Percy was easily spotted, with his bright red hair and lime green robes. Between his thin frame and the voluminous robes, he looked rather like a boy playing dress-up with his father's clothes. The wizard talking to him had a heavy accent that reminded Harry of Karkaroff and Krum, but sounded somehow polished with his boisterously rolled R's and vowels that sounded equally rounded. The well-kempt fringe that was left of his hair just brushed the heavy epaulets surmounting his beribboned purple robes with dignity, and he had a wide and genuine smile that never reached his eyes. Alongside him were two asian wizards. The nearer wore a long straight scarlet robe liberally emblazoned with embroidered decorations and a tall black hat the likes of which Harry had never seen. On the opposite side of the talkative wizard in purple was the other delegate from Asia, wearing some kind of loose white robe that split into wide pant legs below a wide fabric belt.

All told, Harry felt detached from everything around him. He was far too tired, and wanted to sit somewhere quiet and come to grips with the bloody aftermath of the attack on the train. He still wanted to think a little more about the shock of his arrival at Diagon Alley. Instead, he was in this smoothly polished room, surrounded by well dressed Ambassadors drinking tea and talking in the soft light of the great stained glass windows high overhead. The screeching steel and scalding steam were a million miles away, as was the abrupt violence of the day. This quiet meeting was surreal.

Dazedly, he shook his head. Not wanting to interrupt the ongoing conversation, Harry gathered what dignity he could and approached the two seated wizards. The nearer of them was painfully thin, and even seated he was nearly as tall as Harry. He could see bright pink skin through his short, thinning white hair, and he sat awkwardly in his night black three-button suit with one ankle on his knee and a cup of tea forgotten in his hand. Incongruously, Harry noticed an expanse of white athletic sock between the hem of his pants and his patent leather loafers. The only visible sign that he had not gotten lost on his way to Fleet Street was his lapel pin in the shape of a unicursal hexagram with the astrological symbol for Mercury at its center. The other wizard filled his neat grey blazer with too much muscle to be described as 'heavy-set,' but something about his wide brown face gave Harry that impression nonetheless. He sat flat-footed in his armchair, thick black hair falling down his chest far enough to almost conceal the turquoise and leather bolo he wore in lieu of a tie. Although everyone else continued to ignore him, this wizard favored Harry with an open smile as he approached their chairs.

The tall thin wizard covered his teacup with a long-fingered hand as Harry reached them. "Thank you, I'm fine."

Harry nearly stumbled at this. "Excuse me?"

The wizard with the open smile and wide face turned to the his taller companion at this. "Richard," he chuckled, "the young man isn't here to get you something to drink."

The older gentleman, Richard apparently, blinked at this and turned to give Harry a thorough looking over. "I suppose not. Terribly sorry, I just didn't think anyone was going to talk to us who wasn't some kind of enslaved sentient being or other. So you're a bit of a surprise, Mister... er, come to think of it, who are you?"

"Potter, sir. Harry Potter." Harry thrust his hand out, and had the singular experience of introducing himself to someone who didn't once examine his scar or startle at his name.

"Richard Feynman." Harry found the thin wizard had quickly discarded his teacup and was now fully focused on him. "So let's see if we can't sort you out, hmm? You're too young to represent one of the Ministries, and you wouldn't ignore Il Duce Weasley if you worked for him. You aren't two feet tall, wrapped in a towel and enslaved, so you can't work here. You don't know enough to avoid talking to Mister Tso and I, so you aren't some diplomatic savant come to save us all. So that leaves 'terrible mistake' and 'Albus Dumbledore' as the two reasons for you to be here. How'd I do?"

"A bit of both, sir." Harry shifted a bit from foot to foot. "I'm supposed to say something, actually. I, uh, I'm here with the confidence of-"

The thin Wizard, Feynman, leaned forward at this, smiling. "Would that be 'full faith and confidence' by any chance?"

"Yes, sir." Harry nodded abruptly, trying to remember what he had to say. "Of the Supreme Mugwump Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore as his... er, something."

Feynman smiled. "My guess would be Legate. Am I close?"

"Yes, thank you!" Harry didn't know if he'd have remembered on his own.

"You have to use the whole formulation for it to count." Feynman smiled slightly.

"Oh!" Harry cleared his throat, and tried again. "I speak with the full faith and confidence of the Supreme Mugwump Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore as his Legate. Was that right?"

"Absolutely!" Feynman's slight smile broke into a wide grin.

"Thank you," Harry said sincerely. "It's been a long day."

"I'm afraid it's going to get longer, son." Feynman leaned sideways in his seat to look around Harry's shoulder. "Mister Weasley! The duly recognized representative of both the British Wizengamot and the ICW is here!"

The wide-faced wizard named Tso wasn't quite smiling anymore. He shook his head, and spoke softly to the other wizard. "Richard, I think this is someone else's problem. I don't think we want to invite the crows into our fields."

But his warning was late coming, and the cluster of standing wizards ceased talking and turned to glare at Harry and the two older gentlemen.

"What?" Percy turned, scowling. "Harry Potter is no such thing! He's just a student at Hogwarts."

"He's also announced himself as Legate." The wizard Feynman leaned back in his chair. "Have fun with your archaic laws. Let me know how it works out."

"What?" Percy repeated himself, looking paler than usual. The wizard in the crimson robe cast an unobtrusive spell with a jade wand, and held it up to show a golden glow upon the tip. Percy stared at the wand, gobsmacked. "What?"

The wizard in the crimson robes tucked his wand into one wide sleeve and pulled himself even more painfully upright. "The extension of an underling into the polite discussions of learned men can be seen as an insult to the stations of those present."

"I couldn't agree more," responded Feynman pleasantly. "Oh, say, aren't you all just a bunch of ambassadors? I mean, except for Percy Weasley, who's an actual Minister. So I guess you all insulted him first, right?"

The wizard in crimson continued. "A child has been presented, in affront to the dignity of the Forbidden Ministry, as a peer."

"Excuse me," the wizard Tso said as he inclined his head politely. "From what I hear, Harry here has faced his enemies in combat. Giving justice to murderers isn't the act of a child, is it?"

The wizard in crimson sneered down at the affable Tso before turning slightly to stare fixedly at the wall opposite. "Those without lands and proper civilized ministries have no place here. Their words have no meaning."

Tso laughed. "Richard and I sure don't belong here. But I'm pretty sure our words still have meaning."

The wizard in crimson bristled still further, visible only as delicate tremors in his long, thin beard. But the balding wizard in purple laughed brightly and clasped him on the shoulder. "Now, Meester Fan, there ees no reason to take such... umbrage to our new friend Meester Potter, eh!"

He swept forward, and wrapped a brotherly arm around Harry's shoulders, pulling him in tight to the cluster of heavily jeweled medals encrusting his barrel chest. "Harry- I can call you Harry, yes? Yes! Good! Now Harry, my name is Ambassador Volaire, but I eensist you call me Lorry, yes?"

"Lorry? Harry smiled back at Lorry Volaire from an uncomfortably short distance. "Like the car?"

Volaire grinned wide enough to show off his canines. "Yes, just like the cahr. Amusing! You know, you are the feerst person here in Britannia to theenk of that one. Now, on to business, eh?

"You are here to speak for the estimable Albus Dumbledore, and like heem, you want international aid to combat thees scourge that is Voldemort. Pah! In my country, I have no doubt someone would have drown thees Voldemort in a sack at a tender age. Of course, Englad is cursed weeth a shortage of good deep rivers. You must come, once the unpleasantness here is over, and see the Volga. Eet is magnificent."

Harry blinked a bit more at the smoothly jovial tone in which all this was delivered, but Volaire continued unabated as he steered Harry over toward the other standing wizards. "Now, your own Minister Weasley wants our help as well, and in what must be a singular event in politics, it just so happens my own government wants the very same thing. Eet is a good day's work when everything lines up just so, allowing us all to sign far too many copies of parchments covered in very pretty ribbons and seals. Eet is marvelous when thees can happen early enough in the day to let us go forth and rack up truly monumental bar tabs before the sun has even set! All that is left is to arrange the petty details and we may commence drinking. Please, Merlin forfend, please tell me you are of age to become drunk. It does not do to suffer through negotiations only to have sobriety waiting up for you at home."

"But now the duly recognized representative of the ICW is here!" Volaire squeezed Harry on both shoulders before spinning him to face the others. "What do you say Minister, my good Ambassadors? Shall we move quickly to render aid to our good friends the British?"

Harry looked around at the other wizards in the room. Percy was nodding in agreement with the crimson-robed Fan, Volaire was still smiling toothily, and the ambassador in the white robe looked somber. Harry tried to throw a quick glance over his shoulder at Tso and Feynman, but Volaire's firm grip kept him pinned facing away from the other two. That decided him.

Harry pulled himself firmly away from the balding ambassador in the rich purple robes. "I think I would like to know what those 'petty details' are, Ambassador," he said softly .

"Pah," Volaire responded with a complicated simultaneous shrug, wince and wave."Eeet is civil rights, worrying about what happens after thees Voldemort is arrested. Eet is not in the least interesting or pressing."

Harry's green eyes narrowed. "If it's not pressing, then why bring it up now? Why not just loan us Aurors to help fight the Death Eaters?"

Volaire tapped Harry in the chest. "Thees! Thees is why we must seek compact now! Before we involve ourselves militarily, not afterwards, when we must rely upon the British Ministry to be reasonable in dealing with thees cult. We offer aid in stopping thees madman, thees Voldemort! We do not wish to aid your government in its pogrom targeting innocent Purebloods."

"What?" Harry looked confusedly between Volaire and Percy. "What are you talking about?"

"Thees so called 'Death Eaters!' You toss thees words about, and want us to help you kill thees, thees victims without a care in the world!"

"You're mad!" Harry's eyes hardened, his voice rising. "The Death Eaters are the victims?

"Yes, victims!" Now Volaire snarled at Harry. "Victims of marginalization in a society that no longer values the old ways they grew up in. Victims of a deranged cult leader who preys upon them, uses them for their money and connections and then lets them die horribly. Victims of self-righteous crusaders, like you, Meester Potter."

At Harry's wide eyed stare, Volaire continued. "Yees, Meester Potter, I know all about you. Like thees Voldemort, you've drawn otherwise deecent witches and wizards into suicidal violence."

Harry flushed, and rammed an angry finger into Lorry Volaire's chest of medals. "Now wait just a minute you-"

"I haven't a minute to spare!" Volaire turned slightly as he spoke, the better to address the other ambassadors as he argued with Harry. "You've broken into sealed Ministry offices. You've led students- Students! Students into a war against your own Aurors! You've broken into a Pureblood's ancestral home and butchered nearly everyone there you could lay a wand upon!"

"What!" Muscles Harry hadn't realized he'd had before bunched and jumped along his jaw as he refrained from laying Volaire out like Dudley in a Golden Gloves match. Instead he ground the words out as evenly and politely as he could manage. ""That was a trap intended to kill me, and those 'innocent Purebloods' you care so much about were murderers and torturers."

"Perhaps," Volaire replied with an exaggerated shrug and theatrically perplexed expression. "Of course, the Aurors couldn't investigate these claims, since you'd keelled the witnesses and burned the building to the ground! It's a shame you didn't call the Aurors, Meester Potter."

"With Percy here suspending every law he can get his hand on? Sending soldiers into a school, using Unforgivables against students?" Harry held his ground. "Not likely I'd call on him or his men!"

Volaire smiled as though he'd met Father Christmas himself, and turned from Harry to address the other ambassadors directly. "And there you have it, gentlemen. Meester Dumbledore's proxy has as good as admitted he is at war with the British Ministry itself.

Thees man, thees Potter, has been brought in chains before the Wizengamot! And yet here he stands, a free man, spouting sedition. What we have here is not a Dark Wizard, or even a secret Dark society. What we have is no less than a civil war! A war with three equally mad sides, and thees reesks exposing the Magical world, breaking the Secrecy Statute and destroying everything! Gentlemen, on behalf of my Ministry, I demand the International Confederation of Warlocks convene! Immedeately!"

Volaire's smile returned full force. "We must move quickly to revoke the British Ministry's charter, and place thees dreadful situation under International control. We do not need Aurors, we need peacekeepers."

* * *