Fidelius - a tale of pig-headedness 1: The prophesy and the plague

by Polydicta

Once more, Harry Potter is called upon to save British Wizarding society - this time from a Minister for Magic who simply won't change his mind. Warning for Biblical Plagues and nasty death.

A short story in three very short chapters.

Disclaimer:

All fiction is derivative and fan fiction doubly so. I make no claim to own any part of any of the following, all I have done is an attempt to put together the elements in a novel fashion, using words and ideas like Lego ™ bricks.

There is no money involved – all I do is to share what I do for my own amusement.

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Fidelius - a tale of pig-headedness 1: The prophesy and the plague

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Harry Potter sat in the library of his London home, the former Black family home, the infamous and hidden Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

After the defeat of Voldemort, he had re-cast the fidelius over the place, and allowed precious few into the secret.

Hermione was upstairs asleep after having arrived this afternoon in tears. She had been happily married to Auror First Class Ron Weasley for twenty years before he had taken a high-powered blasting curse to his face while trying to apprehend a drunken reveller in The Elf and Firkin down Cynic Alley in Plymouth.

Now, she had been instructed by the Wizengamot that, by law, she must marry a pureblood who had bid for her after the death of her husband, and her underage children were to be placed in the care of The Ministry for placement with an acceptable family. The law was enacted, and the marriage would occur at the Spring Equinox, in just over three months time.

Harry Potter, the reclusive defeater of Voldemort, Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Batchelor for the 32nd year running and author of popular fantasy books in the muggle world was furious. After Hermione had fallen asleep, he contacted a number of muggleborn and half-blood friends and acquaintances to find out what was happening in the wizarding world outside his front door.

The purebloods had, it seems, learned nothing from the years of Voldemort's reign. They were once again treating the muggleborn like chattel, and half-bloods like second-class citizens. It seemed that even muggle-baiting was on the increase again.

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The next morning, Harry put on his wizarding robes and went to visit Minerva Mcgonnegall who was still the headmistress of Hogwarts. She, too, was near to tears due to the idiocies handed down from the ministry. No longer were muggleborn students allowed to take their NEWTs, their wands were to be taken from them outside of class, and were to be taken from them permanently upon graduation.

"Who passed these new rules?"

"The Minister of Magic, Emmanuel Cracknell," she spat.

"Who?"

"He appeared in the public eye about five years ago. He rather resembles Dolores Umbridge …"

"Leave it with me, Minerva …"

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Next on his list was Lavender Brown the resident astrologer at the Daily Prophet.

"Harry! I was going to call you. There has been a new prophesy. Luna thinks that you're part of it."

Harry facepalmed. "Ummm?"

"Yes. Go and see Luna down in the Ministry basement."

So he went.

Luna was not her usual self. She was visibly agitated and obviously upset, and rather more focused than was normal for her.

"They dissolved my marriage, Harry, so that they could make me marry some old fart on the Whingengamot."

"What? How?"

"Newton is a half-blood, and therefore has no real rights in the face of the new minister's latest decrees."

"New minister, Luna? I've been out of touch for a while."

"Some idiot by the name of Cracknell. That's Toad Umbridge's mother's maiden name."

"Not a wizarding name I recognise …"

"No, she was a muggleborn."

Harry winced. "Any relation?"

Luna grinned evilly. "Yes, Umbridge's nephew. Her muggleborn nephew."

Harry smiled. This was the grim smile that Harry wore when someone was about to be handed their own head on a platter.

"Lavender said there was a prophesy?"

Luna beamed. "Yes. There is, and it's a fun one. It's one of Parvati's."

"A dream narrative?"

Luna nodded.

The image floating above the pensieve showed a man in a bowler hat and pinstriped robes. The minister. As the memory began to play, he could be seen standing in a muddy field by a foetid river. Behind him there was a fat cow.

A moment later, there arose a half-seen shadowy figure playing a crumhorn.

The fat cow seemed to shatter and crumble into the mud of the field.

The minister looked on, unmoving and uncaring.

The river changed to the colour and consistency of blood, and he remained impassive.

A skeletally thin cow floated down the river and climbed up onto the river bank and confronted the minister.

The minister did nothing.

The skeletal cow collapsed and dissolved into a swarm of flies which attacked the unmoving minister, biting him until he was raw and bleeding.

Doing nothing more, the minister's skin broke out into massive, suppurating boils.

The world became rimed with ice, thick and hard. The river froze and a blizzard blew, obscuring the view for moments at a time. The world took on the appearance of a frozen moon, and yet the minister gave no sign of action.

He continued to look on as the world was overcome with darkness.

At last, in the dimmest twilight, the figure ceased playing the crumhorn which morphed into a scythe as the muddy field sprouted with a mixture of sickly and fat wheat. The figure swung his scythe and every seventh sickly stalk was mown down.

The minister stood resolute.

The figure held out it's hand, seemingly demanding payment.

The minister ignored the hand.

At last, the figure swung his scythe and the minister, too, was mown down - his blood poisoning the sickly wheat and nourishing the healthy.

"Well, that was biblical."

"I didn't know you played crumhorn, Harry."

"What? What makes you think that was me?"

"You possess the three hallows, Harry. You are also a figure who is rarely seen, a mystery."

Harry nodded, knowing that to dispute was pointless.

"So what happens now, Luna?"

"We publish and are damned. You know what you have to do. We have grown fat and complacent since you last saved us, and now you have to do it again …" she pondered a moment before continuing, " but without the dark lord and the torture curse, of course."

"What about the Wizengamot?"

"The old farts society rubber stamps everything, and I mean everything that the minister decrees. There is no help there."

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Instead of apparating home, Harry went to the minister's office.

When he finally got in to see the man he was revolted by the resemblance to Dolores Umbridge. He asked the minister to reconsider the lunacy of his latest ministerial decrees.

"Mister Potter, you are a half-blood and I only agreed to meet you be of your services to this country. You have no voice here, so do not meddle in things that do not concern you."

"You are a muggleborn, Minister."

"No, Mr Potter, I am the Minister of Magic."

"That's for magic, not of."

"No, it is what I say it is, now get out."

Harry left, fuming.

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The next day, Harry picked up a copy of the Prophet. The front page and a large part of the paper concerned the prophesy - and it's interpretation.

"What a load of rubbish!"

"Hermione, that load of rubbish is brilliant. And what's more, it is extremely prophetic. The minister will have to pay the piper, one way or the other."

Hermione regarded her friend.

"Harry …"

He held up his hands "It's a prophetic dream. This one is quite biblical. What's more, it is easy to make happen."

She looked curious. "How?"

Harry grinned. "I discovered a charm that can be used and abused so easily."

"Explain …."

And he did, and gained a radiant smile from his fiend.

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At midnight Harry's trusted few were gathered in Grimmauld Place.

Harry gathered his magic to him and waved his wand over a map of the British Isles as he incanted:

"Arcanum est: Magicals in Britain know that water isn't blood and that it is drinkable. Occultatum eam. Hoc sacramentum participes omnes poterunt. Fidelis!"*

His audience, as one, expressed revulsion at the contents of the water glass on the table which now looked and smelled like blood.

"Please remember that the secret is that Magicals in Britain know that water isn't blood and that it is drinkable. You may share the secret with those you trust. The charm will be broken two nights hence."

His friends all relaxed. They drifted off to their respective homes and families.

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* This is of course the fidelius charm which translates as: "The secret is: ********* . Make it hidden. All those present shall be able to share the secret. Fidelis."

The counter charm, only able to be cast by a secret keeper is: "Illud secretum non ********. Illud non latet. Finitum-fidelis."

That is, "Make it no longer secret that *******; make it no longer hidden. End the fidelis."

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