Three Plotting


Sirius followed a still grinning Harry down the stairs and into the
kitchen. "Lucius beat him?"

Sirus shook his head slowly when Harry nodded. "I knew he was a Death
Eater . . . even if he did get off last time by claiming he was under
the Imperius, but I never would have thought he would beat his own son."

"Me neither. Now I have to wonder what Lucius did to him whenever I beat
him at something, or Hermione made better grades." Harry sighed, setting
a pan on the stove and pouring a bit of oil into it.

"You can't blame yourself for what Lucius did!" Sirius said, watching
Harry's reaction.

"Oh, I know that, Sirius. It's just . . . it's an explanation, maybe,
for some of his behavior, that will make it easier for me to look past."
Harry turned away from the breading he was mixing in a bowl, and looked
pointedly at Sirius.

"You, my dear godfather, need to sit down and write a letter to Moony
before he goes out of his mind. Don't say anything about where we are .
. ." Harry looked up, sighing, and rolled his shoulders and stretched
his neck wearily. "I'm not ready to deal with everyone's pity and
sympathy just yet. I've got a scary feeling that my life is not finished
being turned upside down, and I don't want it to bite my friends. I can
handle whatever is coming, I can feel that, but I don't know if I will
be able to while trying to deal with everyone."

"I understand," Sirius said, summoning a quill, ink pot, and parchment.
To his dismay, the ink pot was open, and spilled when it stopped on the
table. He cleaned it up with a wave of his wand, and sat down.

"Just make sure they understand you are safe. I . . . I guess, you can
go ahead and say that you are with me, that I needed you. Oh, and tell
them we're behind a Fidelius, will you? I don't want them expending too
much effort looking for me when there is no chance of them finding me,
particularly since it might cause them to expose themselves to
Death Eater attacks."

"Should I mention Draco?"

Harry sighed thoughtfully. "No, not yet. I think that has to be Draco's
decision, so for now, don't say anything about him."

"Right," said Sirius, putting quill to parchment. He looked up after a
moment. "How are they going to get this? I don't recall seeing Hedwig
around."

"She's not here. I left her at Hogwarts. Ignis will take it."

Sirius grinned as he scrawled out his missive. "So, how do you like the
name?"

Harry laughed. "It's fine. But Ignis is no more full of himself than a
certain Padfoot is."

"Can I include Ignis' name in the letter?"

"Sure, just don't link us beyond that he's here with us. I don't know
for sure, but I felt you when you were ranting about me. I might be able
to feel if someone calls for Ignis."

"Right. Like you felt Draco." Sirius finished the letter and signed it
with a flourish. "That mean you might be able to pick up return mail?"

"At the very least, I could pop in from time to time. I don't want to
get too out of touch with what's happening over there."

"You know where they are?"

"Yep. I've seen the house on Grimmauld Place. I could even feel that
Hermione and Ron were in there."

Sirius grinned widely, showing off teeth that were much whiter now than
when he had first escaped, if still somewhat misaligned. "We need to get
that girl an Animagus form so we can give her a shorter name. Why
haven't you guys given her a proper nickname by now?"

"Because she reacts quite badly to Hermy and 'Mione." Harry looked up
from where he was coating chicken leg-quarters with breading, his hands
similarly coated. "I think she must have been teased a lot about her
name. She doesn't take it well now, so we've given up on trying to
shorten it."

Sirius glanced at Harry's hands as he folded his letter. "You planning
on cooking your hands, too? I guess we need to add cooking magic to your
regimen."

Chuckling, Harry flicked crumbs at his godfather, who batted them away
with a wide grin. "Very funny, old man. I've watched Mrs. Weasley
plenty, I'm sure I could do it. I like cooking." He looked up
thoughtfully. "It's odd, sort of. I mean, you'd think that I'd be happy
to not have to do the work I was forced to do at the Dursley's anymore.
But that's not the way it feels. It's more like, the work I did there,
especially the stuff that took way too long, was my one escape from
them. I definitely didn't care for their comments about it, but I could
see the results. Besides, it's rather nice knowing that I actually get
to eat as much as I want of what I make, and that I can do it because I
want to, and not because someone's forcing me to."

Sirius sighed as he sealed his letter, making no comment. Harry had said
much the same thing the first time he had cooked for Sirius, and as much
as it angered him to know that his godson had been put through such
things, there was nothing he could do to the Dursleys that would not put
him at risk, potentially leaving Harry alone. And that he could not do,
so he had to just grin and bear it, and do the best he could to be as
appreciative and supportive of Harry as he could. Not that there was
anything difficult about that. Harry seemed to impress him more and more
every day.

---

Though they were more used to fried than baked chicken, both Draco and
Sirius seemed to enjoy Harry's creation. The meal was a quiet one, as
all three had thoughts weighing on their minds, but that same silence
was a companionable one, made so simply by the love between godfather
and godson, and by the absence of the heretofore inevitable insults
between rivals.

Draco had been informed before the meal began that Ignis would be making
a mail run, and he had said that he would like to send a letter. When
the meal finished, Harry cleared the table with a wave of his hand, then
brought Draco parchment, ink, and a quill, ignoring the startled and
disbelieving look that Draco gave him. He suspected that Draco thought
that he was acting like a servant, but he figured that Draco was still
adjusting to the lack of the servants that probably took care of most of
his mundane needs at the Manor. In time he would come to understand that
it was nothing more than a friendly gesture; for now, Harry was willing
to tolerate the misunderstanding.

"Gringotts." Draco stated a minute or two later. Harry looked up,
startled, from where he was sitting and waiting.

"You wanted to know who I'm writing to, didn't you?" Draco looked up
from scraping his quill across the parchment and smirked. "I would be
curious, in your place. And I wouldn't be biting my tongue about it,
either, Gryffie."

Harry shrugged, ignoring Draco's teasing House reference. "Why
Gringotts? I'm not asking for rent."

Draco's eyes narrowed. Harry expected he was thinking something
surprisingly Weasley-like about the propriety of accepting charity, but
he made no mention of it. "I've a vault there, a minor's account. I can
make certain draws upon it, but it is under my father's control. I want
to move what I can from it to a new vault before he has the chance to
seal it." He sighed. "It is probably too late, but I need to try. Still,
any money that we take from him is money that won't be funding
V-voldemort." 

Draco suppressed his smile when Harry's face brightened at his words. He
knew that Harry disliked the tendency of wizards to euphemize their
references to Voldemort. He himself was not free of that tendency, at
least not yet, but he had no respect for the man. Fear, definitely, but
no respect, and having seen Harry's power firsthand, he felt comfortable
that if Voldemort showed up to protest the use of his name, Harry would
send him packing. Not to mention that they were behind a Fidelius charm.

Harry glanced at Sirius. "The goblins are basically independent from the
Ministry, right, Sirius? I mean, if the Ministry could have, they would
have confiscated your gold when you were arrested, and I know they did
not do that, or you could not have bought me that Firebolt."

Sirius nodded. "That's right. That's also why the Ministry can't freeze
the accounts of the Death Eaters, known or not."

Frowning, Harry slowly verbalized his thoughts, "The Ministry probably
tries to force the Goblins to do things, with Decrees and such-like. If
we could find some books or someone that really knows them, and learn
about them, we might be able to negotiate with them. You know, ask them
for help instead of demanding it, find something worthwhile that we
could offer to them instead of threats. We might be able to cut off some
of the funding for the Death Eaters." 

He glanced at his two companions, then turned his gaze to the wall, his
eyes unfocused in thought. "We couldn't ask them to break their word,
obviously. At the very least, it seems just vaguely possible to me that
somewhere in all their rules, they might have some leeway in
interpreting who in a family has the right to control access to a vault.
I mean, it can't be strictly by word-of-mouth, they have to handle
deaths and wills and such, but it can't really be strictly by law,
either, if they've got their own independent codes."

"You really think you could convince them to transfer control of the
Malfoy vault to me?" Draco stared at Harry incredulously.

"Oh, not if we just went in and talked to them, no. But if we research
first, and learn about their culture, and what they value . . . you
know, I've heard people claim that they value nothing but gold, but I
just don't see how that can be the case. A lust for gold does not give
you a work ethic, or a mind for numbers. They have to have values, and
desires. If we find out what they are, and can speak to them on their
level, then yet, I do think it is possible that they might . . . well,
as an example, maybe they could not just transfer control directly, but
they might be willing to tell us what steps we could take that would
trigger some rule or clause that would have that effect."

"And then they would be just applying the rules as written, just
following their code. No-one could fault them for that," put in Sirius
with a grin. "For your info, oh godson of mine, the old vaults are
mostly by individual contract. Particularly the pureblood ones have
rules and clauses that restrict the transfer of control in different
ways. For many of the families, marrying a non-pureblood is exactly the
sort of thing that would block access to even the primary heir. Getting
access to those contracts could do exactly what you described . . . give
us the steps to be taken to accomplish such a transfer against the
current holder's will. It probably wouldn't work on all of them . . ."

"But any one that it does, is that much less money for the Death
Eaters," nodded Draco smartly. "A great idea, Harry, assuming you can
find a source of information." Draco glanced at Black, wondering
silently why the man who had been Voldemort's right hand was so
unconcerned about Harry stopping the flow of funds to the Dark Lord. In
fact, Draco thought he looked rather pleased about it. Was he just that
good of an actor?

Harry just grinned, thinking of a certain pony-tailed redhead.

"Alright," announced Draco, carefully blotting his letter and then
folding it. "It's done," he continued, pressing his ring against it,
which magically sealed it with the Malfoy crest.

Harry nodded, standing. "I'll just run upstairs and send Ignis down.
Then I guess I'll have a rest." Without waiting for a response, he moved
swiftly up the stairs. Draco heard a door open and close above them,
then a muffled voice.

A flash of flame appeared above the table and the beautiful scarlet and
gold bird that had saved him appeared from the flames and settled easily
on the table. It cocked its head at Draco, then chirped at Sirius,
lifting its claw.

Moments later, Ignis had vanished with the parchments, leaving Draco in
a room alone with the infamous Sirius Black for the first time. Draco
glanced nervously at the powerful wizard, wondering where the man's
loyalties lay.

Sirius leaned back in his chair, tilting it up on two legs as he
stretched. "Well, little dragon," he said, dropping his chair back down
and fixing Draco with a piercing black gaze, "Harry has decided to open
his home to you, exactly why only he can say. But let me make this
perfectly clear . . . if you do anything to hurt him, or reveal anything
about him, no matter how small, to anyone, you will pay." Sirius
finished with a coldness that chilled Draco's blood, then twirling his
wand warningly, he stood and left the young Malfoy heir sitting alone in
fearful silence.

---

Harry, or rather Ignis now, appeared in the sky over Grimmauld place,
and briefly reached out, feeling the essences of those in the building.
Most of them he recognized, but one immediately registered as
unfamiliar, and to his dismay, it was in the same room as the one he was
looking for, Remus Lupin.

Unwilling to spend too much time above the house where he could draw
attention to it, he decided that he would have to risk it, and flashed
into the building. He appeared in the air between Remus and the
unfamiliar person. He looked at the young woman as he dropped to rest on
the coffee table that sat between them. She looked to be a little older
than Angelina and Alicia, the Chasers with whom he played Quidditch. She
was slender and shapely, with a heart-shaped face and a cute nose, wide,
surprised eyes that were a startling shade of burnt orange, and light
blue hair.

Remus leaned forward and Ignis--who had decided that thinking of himself
by his new name while in this form would help keep him from making
mistakes that might reveal himself--turned his attention back to the
werewolf that had taught him so much.

"Remus, is that . . . ," the blue-haired woman began, reaching out as if
to touch the phoenix's feathers, before holding herself back, not
wanting to startle the beautiful bird.

"Yes, Tonks," Remus replied, cutting off her startled words with
soothing calm, "This does look rather like the pretty bird that took
Snuffles away. And what do you have here, my pretty?"

Ignis allowed Remus to remove Sirius' letter, but hopped back a pace
before the werewolf could grasp the other letter. Remus sat back
thoughtfully. "Guess that one's not for us." He watched the bird for a
moment. "You think it's waiting for a reply?"

"Maybe . . . who's it from?"

Remus glanced at the envelope, tearing his attention away from the
phoenix and the other letter. His eyes widened. "This is the bird. It's
from Sirius!"

He tore into it, jerking the letter out and unfolding it hastily, his
breath quickening. Tonks leaned forward impatiently as Remus began
reading under his breath, muttering the words. He looked up.

"He's alright, and you won't believe it, but he's with Harry!"

"Where? Does he say where he is?" Tonks sat up straight, her hand flying
to her wrist, where her fingers moved, Ignis noted, as though she were
wearing a bracelet, though none such could be seen.

"No, only that we would never guess . . . and that they're under the
Fidelius . . . doesn't say who the Secret-Keeper is."

"He wouldn't. Not after the last time. But I wonder who cast it?"

"Sirius might have." There was a hitch of bitterness in Remus' voice.
"He wasn't under suspicion, he may well have been there while Lily and
James were learning the charm, he might know how to cast it."

"Does he say anything about Harry's new Protector?"

Ignis peered curiously at the young woman. She sounded deeply and
personally interested in Harry and who was guarding him, but he was
quite certain that he did not know her.

"No, only that Voldemort himself would have a time with him, and that
Harry is alright, safe, and learning. He also passes along a message for
Dumbledore from Harry. 'The time for safety is over. The time for
learning is here.' I guess he's fed up with being locked away."

"Who can blame him!?" Ignis once more found himself staring at the
unusual young woman as her eyes lit up with a protective fire. "After
what his guardians did to him! Oh, I wish Dumbledore would let me go
after them! I'd teach them to treat a young man right!"

"I'm sure Dumbledore would agree with you . . . unfortunately, I'm not
sure Harry would believe that. You remember the Hogwart's admission
letter we found."

"Right, the one addressed to the . . . to the . . ." Tonks shuddered.
"To that place," she finished hoarsely, tears glinting in her ochre
eyes.

"I doubt that Harry knows that they are addressed magically, that the
teachers never see the addresses." Remus informed her gently. "I'm
afraid that that may explain why he was so quiet about his problems. He
hid them so well . . . and I think at least part of it is due to
believing that the people that were supposed to care about him already
knew. I'm afraid that he probably believed that if he complained, no-one
would care, and he would only be hurt worse by that."

Tonks shivered, and hugged her arms around herself. Ignis shook off his
startlement at Lupin's words, rustled his feathers to draw her eye, then
sang comfortingly, lifting her spirits magically. She laughed, softly.
"Thanks. You know, Remus was right, you are a beautiful bird." She
reached out, gingerly, and emboldened when he did not retreat from her
hand, she brushed her hand down his feathers, feeling their soft
texture.

"Oh," added Remus, as he watched the youthful Auror interacting with the
phoenix. "He says the phoenix is named Ignis." Ignis chirped in
confirmation, then hopped backwards, out of their reach, and thrust his
wings hard, pushing himself back into the air enough to vanish into
flames. He still had another letter to deliver, and it was
time-sensitive. He hoped that his distraction by the unusual woman had
not cost Draco.

---

Harry grinned as he soared through the open window and out of
Gringott's, a thick envelope clutched tightly in his talons. His
confidence level rose every time he discovered a new facet to his
powers, and he had just done so yet again. He had appeared outside of
Gringott's and paused, wondering how he would be able to find someone
who would not only be accessible, but both willing and capable of acting
on Draco's letter. He had not wanted to merely hand it to the first
goblin he came to, for fear that it would get overlooked and acted upon
too late, if at all. At the same time, appearing in, say, the Head
Manager's office might provoke an instant defensive response. 

To his amazement, when he had mentally formulated a description of the
sort of person he needed to find, he almost immediately began to sense
the same sort of draw that had led him to Sirius. He had vanished,
following the guide, and found himself in a private office with a very
important looking goblin, who was even then looking over a stack of
papers with the Malfoy crest. Without realizing it, he had just found
the perfect goblin to aid him; the one charged with managing the Malfoy
account!

Now, as he soared over Diagon Alley and vanished, to reappear over his
new home in Godric's Hollow, he could not help but marvel at this new
power. Tomorrow, he decided, he would use this same technique to select
the right person to explain goblin culture to them. He might even be
able to use it to locate someone who could train him in his skills, or
teach him to make wands. He was not sure what the limits were, whether
of distance or relevance to his errand, but he fully intended to push
them. He wondered if this was an inherent ability of the phoenix, or
perhaps of magical birds in general, considering the effectiveness of
the owl post. 

He paused, then blushed as he realized that he was probably completely
mistaken about the whole thing. He had not paid attention to how the
letter was addressed; but surely, Draco would know who the Malfoy's
account manager was, and had probably addressed it to him by name. Did
it only work when carrying wizarding post? Was it somehow the post and
not the owl that knew where to go? How generic could the address be and
still work?

He pictured Hedwig flying off to deliver a letter addressed to 'the one
person best suited to train Harry Potter to defeat Voldemort.' Of
course, he knew already that owl senses or abilities, at least, could be
fooled or blocked, or else Sirius would have been picked up by the
Aurors within mere hours of his escape from Azkaban. Besides which, with
his luck, said person would end up being Voldemort himself, or one of
his Death Eaters.

Harry vanished again, reappearing in his room. He would go out and speak
to his housemates in a while, but first, he wanted to rest, and to
absorb the conversation between Remus and the unfamiliar woman . . .
what was her name again? Ah, yes, Tonks. Curious name, that, Harry
mused, before sighing. He was merely stalling, he knew that, but to face
the idea that Dumbledore might actually have not known about the
cupboard was startling and disturbed beliefs that he had held for a very
long time now.

It had taken quite a while for him to rid himself of his initial fears,
on entering the school, first triggered by the prospect of the unknown
test called the Sorting, of having it all turn out to be a mistake, and
finding himself back on Privet Drive forever. Even after the test turned
out to be a simple wearing of a talking hat, he had still been afraid
that he would screw up, something that he always did, according to his
family, and be sent back, especially when the hat had seemed to think he
shared characteristics with the house he had been told, but a short time
before, "turned out the most Dark Wizards."

Even after his friendship with Ron and the acceptance of the Weasleys
manage to convince him that his life was not normal, that his treatment
at the Dursleys' was not right, he had feared to bring it up, lest the
powers that be decide he was ungrateful, another constant complaint of
the Dursleys, and refuse to allow him to come back to the wizarding
world.

Facing the possibility that his constant return to the oppressive home
of his Uncle and Aunt was due only to his own reticence about the truth
of their treatment of him was daunting.

He finally, for the first time, really thought about the Ministry, and
how they behaved towards him, but most importantly, how the Minister of
Magic, Cornelius Fudge, behaved to Dumbledore. He did not know if Fudge
had been the Minister then, but if the head of the Ministry had been
anything like Fudge . . . He recalled the respect the Minister had for
Lucius Malfoy, and the apparent ease with which sufficient money could
purchase a blind eye.

Would Dumbledore have been able to keep him from ending up in the
custody of the Malfoy family or a similar Dark but rich and influential
family if he had tried to keep Harry in the Wizarding World? Would he
have ended up somewhere even worse if Dumbledore had not placed him with
his last living relatives, a placement no-one in the Ministry could
reasonably deny?

Finally giving up on his whirling, chaotic thoughts, Harry put them
firmly from his mind, and returning to phoenix form, he took up the
letter from Gringotts. Reaching out, he felt around for Draco, finding
in moments the the sensation that would lead him to his former nemesis.
He vanished, following the feel of the other boy, and reappeared in
Draco's new room, hovering above his bed.

Draco lay in bed, reading what looked to Harry to be a defense book,
though he found reading oddly difficult in this form. He dropped lightly
to the bed, as Draco set down his book, and looked at him. "Ignis," he
greeted, dipping his head respectfully, but keeping his silver eyes
fixed on Harry's beak.

He reached out slowly, tentatively touching the letter. When Ignis made
no move to attack him, he picked up the letter and began to open. As he
pulled out the first sheet, he heard the distinctive if soft sound of
Ignis departing in flames.

---

Draco pounded down the stairs a quarter of an hour later, finding Harry
and Black sitting at the table discussing something. "They did it!" he
crowed, holding up a small, golden key. Harry grinned at him, startling
Draco. He was still not used to seeing that expression aimed at himself.
Harry had definitely had more often a look of anger, disdain, or a
irritation when he saw Draco.

"Why did he save me?" Draco wondered once more, even as he pulled up a
seat and returned Harry's smile. That also felt odd. He was more used to
smirking at the Boy-Who-Lived than actually smiling at him.

"Obviously Lucius did not expect you to be able to communicate with
Gringotts," Black commented. "He probably thought that Dumbledore had
taken you to Hogwarts or somewhere else and hidden you away."

"Probably," conceded Draco, before looking between the two. "So what are
you two up to?"

Harry grinned, "Six foot plus, I think! Makes for a nice change from
being the shrimp!"

"You still haven't explained how that happened," Draco pointed out, now
that Harry had brought up the subject. He had wondered since he first
saw the new Harry what could have happened to him. He claimed to have
been shot with a Muggle weapon, but Draco doubted strongly if there was
any Muggle weapon capable of wreaking the sort of changes Harry had
undergone. Certainly he did not look or act at all like the troubled,
delusional, attention-seeking brat the Daily Prophet had been portraying
him as of late.

Harry grinned. "You're right, Draco. I haven't. As for your first
question, what Paddy and I were discussing . . ."

"Paddy!" interjected Black with a yelp, and Draco blanched, afraid that
the dark wizard would lose his temper.

Harry glared at Black. "You prefer Footsie?" Black shook his head,
crossing his arms and huffing irritably. Once more Draco was nonplussed,
finding it very difficult to reconcile the two's behavior with what he
knew of them.

"Anyway, as I was saying, Paddy and I were discussing wizarding
traditions. As I am quite certain you are aware, I was not raised by a
wizarding family, and Binns is hardly an informative source of
historical or cultural knowledge." Draco flinched and nodded under
Harry's piercing gaze. He had known that Harry was raised by Muggles. He
had not, of course, believed that they would ever go so far as to shoot
the Boy-Who-Lived, but then, clearly he did not know everything about
Harry's upbringing. That he was the next thing to a muggle-born had been
quite obvious from quite early on.

Draco was soon drawn into a wide-ranging discussion of wizarding
traditions and customs, from pure-blood houses, to the relative rank of
certain families, from holiday celebrations to weddings and funerals.
Eventually they focused on education, particularly Hogwarts. It was
shortly thereafter, when they touched on the Founders, that the
discussion bore fruit.

"They say that Slytherin and Gryffindor both had great castles, but that
they were lost after their deaths, or possibly after their direct
lineage failed," Draco explained.

"Actually, the tales I learned as a lad said they were lost when a Dark
wizard arose some three hundred years after the founding of Hogwarts,"
interjected Sirius.

"At any rate," continued Draco, acknowledging Black's contribution with
a slight nod, "No-one has ever located them since, though every few
decades someone claims to. According to the books, they've all been
frauds or mistaken."

"What about Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hufflepuff? Did they have
estates?" asked Harry, curiously.

"I'm sure they did," agreed Draco, "but I don't know of any legends
surrounding them."

Harry frowned thoughtfully. He tapped his fingers on the table in a slow
drumming. Behind him a blackboard appeared on an easel, and words
appeared on it. The first line read "Goblins and Galleons," the second
read "Godric and Salazar's Estates."

"What's this then, Harry?"

Harry glanced behind himself and grinned. "To-do list," he said. "Those
two estates probably hold more than one clue to dealing with Voldemort,
and if they have been hidden this long, they may well serve as a good
place to gather forces for an assault, or to hide potential victims. If
they're anything like Malfoy Manor, there will be plenty of rooms to
use."

"There's no real evidence that they even exist," Sirius pointed out.

"They had to have lived somewhere. Even if their homes have already been
looted, it would still be an interesting search, but if they are hidden
as in the stories, then we should find them."

"And how are we supposed to find something that no-one has been able to
since they vanished?" asked Draco sourly. He was not fond of the idea of
going off on a wild goose chase, particularly since doing so would mean
leaving the protection of the Fidelius charm and potentially being
captured by his father. He rather doubted that his father would be in
any mood to be lenient or merciful the next time the two met.

"You let me worry about that," Harry answered him, grinning wider still.
Another line appeared on the chalkboard behind him. "Moony and the
Werewolves."

Sirius snorted. "That looks like a band name," he pointed out. "Do you
really think you can get them on your side?"

Harry's grin turned feral. "All we need is a cure that leaves them
healthy."

Draco and Sirius stared at Harry in disbelief. "A cure?!" Draco
sputtered. "You're crazy, Harry! There is no cure for lycanthropy! There
never has been!"

"There will be," responded Harry mildly, his grin fading to a secretive
smile. Draco stared at the black-haired boy's green eyes but found no
hint of deceit. Harry truly believed that he would be able to come up
with a cure. And without spending his life on it, as he clearly expected
to manage it in time for them to be part of Voldemort's downfall.

Draco shuddered at the strangeness of it. Only days ago he had been
undergoing torture in his own home, a bastion of support for the Dark
Lord, his own father a Death Eater, and now he was here at a table where
Voldemort's end was being plotted.

Another line appeared on the board. "Competence in the Ministry"

Sirius snorted. "Planning on taking out the Fudge, Harry?"

Harry frowned, his eyes narrowing. "He won't admit Voldemort is back. He
won't even consider the possibility that he is wrong, and he had the
Dementor's Kiss administered to Crouch before he could be interrogated
to ensure that he did not hear anything that might force him to admit
it. We can't afford that sort of person at the head of the Ministry."

Sirius nodded slowly, but warned, "You will only get one chance at that,
Harry. Fail, and he will do everything in his power to discredit you,
and probably make anything and everything you do illegal."

Harry nodded. "Saying Voldemort's name will be an Azkaban-punishable
offense. Yeah, I know. But even he can't get past a Fidelius."

Draco perked up. "He's already trying to discredit Harry, if the Daily
Prophet is anything to go by. But if you can find Gryffindor's place,
you might find his token. That would let you oust Fudge, if it would let
you hold it. But it ought to, you're as Gryff as they come," he sneered.

"His token?"

Sirius leaned forward, answering before Draco could respond. "Godric was
a Lord, Harry, a Peer of the Realm. Wizards don't generally place much
stock in English titles when they're held by a Muggle, but in the hands
of a wizard they have meaning. If I remember my history rightly, Draco
might be correct, Godric might have had a permanent peerage, represented
by a token, something like a signet ring or a seal. If his station was
high enough, and knowing him it probably was, then he or his heir,
denoted by the token if he had one, would have the authority to call for
a vote of no-confidence in the current government. If he wins the vote,
new elections would be held."

Harry shook his head. "I don't see the advantage, particularly. If I can
force Fudge to resign, there would be a new vote automatically, right?"

Draco shook his head. "No, a temporary Minister would be appointed by
the Wizengamot, which means selection by influence and money."

"Your father?"

"Possibly, but even if not, he would likely be able to block anyone that
Dumbledore put forward."

Harry stood abruptly, and started pacing. "It would have to be both,
then. We have to break the people's blind faith in the Ministry first,
or they'll just vote him back in, or someone just like him. We need to
force Voldemort to show his hand in a way the Ministry can't cover it
up, but without casualties, and the inability of the Ministry to deal
with it must be made obvious. At the same time, we've got to discredit
your father, Draco." He put his hands to his head, groaning. "I hate
politics."

"If there are no casualties, people may not take it seriously," Draco
pointed out. Harry paled.

"I . . . I can't just let him kill people," he sputtered, turning to
Sirius with a pleading look.

"Now you have some idea what Dumbledore goes through, and why he stays
out of the Ministry politics even when he gets the wrong end of the
stick by it," Sirius answered. "You need some charm, maybe, that you
could cast on the people about to be hit, that would swap them with fake
bodies to take the injury. They would have to pass a medical
examination, though. Unless you could arrange to thoroughly burn the
bodies. You would still need some way to deal with the people you saved,
though, not to mention that at some point you would have to come clean
and deal with everyone's reactions."

Draco looked back at the board. "Managing your first item would go a
long way in preparing to oust Fudge," Draco said, though he could hardly
believe he was saying it. How had he gotten himself involved in
rebelling against the Ministry and trying to defeat Voldemort at the
same time? "If you cut off the funds that my father and others use to
bribe, then they are left with threats. They can use threats and
blackmail against the Wizengamot or the Hogwart's Board of Governors
because there are few enough of them, but it is much easier to influence
the media with gold."

"Combine that with Godric's token and you would have a better chance at
shifting public opinion. You would cut off their propaganda dollars, and
have the chance at giving public speeches in support of a vote of
no-confidence."

"You would have to deal with the minor point that Fudge has made it
illegal to publicly state that Voldemort is back," Draco concluded.

"What?!" Harry cried, staring at the blond in disbelief.

"You hadn't heard? I thought you knew. My father mentioned it. He was
rather gleeful about it, actually."

Sirius laughed, a grim smile lighting his face as his eyes darkened
mischievously. "I've got the answer to that," he exulted.

---

Back in his room, Draco considered what he had learned. His rescuer was
plotting heavily, and intending to take out both Voldemort and the
current Minister. It was scarcely believable that this was the same
Potter he had known for so long. Well, granted, he clearly wasn't
exactly the same. His Potter had been a short, scrawny boy with no
obvious power. Harry was now a tall, strongly-built fellow with scads of
power just radiating off of him.

Most of his thought, however, was focused on Black. It did not seem
credible that the betrayer of the Potters, who had condemned Lily and
James Potter to death by revealing their location to Voldemort, could be
plotting the Dark Lord's overthrow. Yet if he was relaying Harry's plans
to Voldemort, then that part could make sense. Why then was he helping
Harry plot against the Minister?

From what Draco could see, and what his father had said in his hearing,
Fudge was the perfect Minister for Voldemort. Easily influenced by
money, the man was greedy, power-hungry, and had all the morals of a
cockroach. He was also bound and determined to believe that Voldemort
was gone forever, and could never return, leaving the Dark Lord to gain
power unmolested.

A new thought came to him then, as Draco looked around the room Harry
had made for him, and remembered Harry's visible power as he performed
such impressive magic. Might Black be a follower of power? Could he have
chosen Harry over Voldemort simply because Harry defeated Voldemort when
he was one? Or because Voldemort had failed to kill Harry when he had
him at his mercy, with a score or more of Death Eaters at hand?

Draco sighed in relief. He had finally figured it out. It explained
everything! Well, almost everything. It still did not explain Harry's
sudden changes in height and build and power, though he suspected it
might be connected. He thought back to their conversation, and realised
that Harry had deflected him when questioned about his changes. "He
never would have managed that before," he mused.

Regardless of whether it explained Harry, it definitely explained
Sirius. His initial odd, almost deferent behavior with Harry, the fact
that he was now supporting Harry when he should have been handing him
over to Voldemort, his willingness to go along with ousting the
Minister, it all made sense in light of a change of loyalty, of a
power-seeker following the winner in a battle.

Draco wondered how much of the apparent change in Harry's behavior could
be traced to that, to him having a follower, someone who believed in his
real power rather than in some intangible myth about him being the
Boy-Who-Lived. Sirius did not look up to Harry because he had lived, but
because he had won! What would that kind of belief do to Harry?
Certainly, it had increased his ambitions.

Draco smiled slowly, realizing that he himself had made just the same
decision as Sirius. He had seen Harry's power for himself, and finally
understood that he had truly defeated Voldemort, not merely survived
him.