The Process and the Prank

A/N This story takes place post-DH. Kingsley Shacklebolt is Minister for Magic and Harry and Ron run the Auror Office. And yes, there is some inspiration from Kafka's The Process.

Minister's Office – Ministry of Magic, London

Kingsley looked up from the report entitled Floo Network Disruptions Due to Unexplained Magical Interference and Suggested Course of Action to Prevent the Sending of Wizards or Witches Up a Muggle Chimney as a knock came against his office door.

"Thank you," Kingsley muttered, welcoming the opportunity to leave the tedium of that report for a while. The amusing implication that someone would end up in a Muggle chimney had turned out to be the product of a very bored Ministry employee who, in a futile attempt to make an otherwise boring report a little thrilling, failed miserably. Besides, the idea was all wrong in the first place. Surely the Floo network could theoretically malfunction and send a traveler to the wrong destination, but certainly not up a non-connected chimney!

Kingsley sighed, realising he'd spent entirely too much time with Hermione Weasley. He could still hear her rather impassioned diatribe about the Floo network over and over in his mind. Nice woman, smart witch, but how does Ron stand her lectures? Perhaps there's much to be said for selective hearing…

"Enter," Kingsley said in a low monotone, closing the report and returning it to the top of the mountain of reports he had yet to read.

The door opened and two nervous-looking wizards dressed in the deep blue Law Enforcement Patrol robes stepped in. "Kingsley Shacklebolt," the clearly more experienced of the two asked.

As if he wouldn't know, and what's this all about anyway? "Yes, as the sign on the door says, that's me." Moron. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

"Under order of the Minister for Magic, you are hereby placed under arrest. You will accompany us to the holding cells to await interrogation, which will determine if you are to be shipped off to Azkaban until your trial, held here, or released on your own recognizance," the man said with the clinical emotionless voice and demeanor characteristic of the Squads.

"By Merlin's flip-flops, what for," Kingsley shouted. "Don't you idiots realise that I'm Minister for Magic? I haven't ordered my own arrest..."

The Law Officer presented a parchment, which Kingsley took it from him. Donning his reading glasses, he looked it over. "Bloody hell. It is an order for my arrest, and it is my signature. But this parchment doesn't say why I'm supposedly under arrest," Kingsley said indignantly. "There has to be probable cause and that cause does not appear on this document. Get out of my office!"

"This is simply the order, sir. Evidently, the reason for it is classified," the officer said, not moving.

"Classified? That would be a gross understatement, since I have no clue myself," Kingsley huffed.

"Mr Shacklebolt, since your arrest, you're temporarily relieved of your duties as Minister for Magic pending the outcome of your trial. Perhaps the reason for your arrest was obliviated from your mind as you signed the order, and the knowledge passed on to the temporary Minister, pending your fate," the second officer offered.

Kingsley again scanned the report he'd just read. It suddenly seemed a lot more tempting to continue reading it. This was mental, to say the least. "Why the ruddy hell would I sign an order for my own arrest?"

"I'm sure we'll find that out during your interrogation, sir. Are you coming peacefully or will I have to use force," the officer asked. "Resisting arrest won't look good on your record, Mr Shacklebolt."

Is he honestly thinking he'll take down a former Head Auror in a fight? Not jolly likely. Kingsley chose a more diplomatic route and sighed resignedly. "I'll come with you if for no other reason than to sort this out. Who's the temporary Minister for Magic, anyway?"

"That would be the most-senior Head of a Department, which, in this case, is the Head of the Department of Mysteries, I believe, sir." The two officers shifted their gazes between Kingsley and one another as they nervously fingered their wands. Kingsley Shacklebolt's reputation as a law enforcement office, warrior, and statesmen kept them from arbitrarily drawing the man into a duel, but they were prepared to do so if necessary.

"They have a Head," Kingsley asked as they left for the holding cells.

"According to the Ministry Staff Roster, they do, sir. Of course, no one's seen him for months, but that is not uncommon on level 9, is it," the younger officer snorted, much to the chagrin of his elder partner.

"And he's Minister for Magic at the moment?"

"Correct."

Mental, this is. "Do we even know he's still alive," the currently-deposed Minister asked, rolling his eyes.

"The Assistant Head would've received a memo appointing him to the position of the Head had passed over," the officer said matter-of-factly.

Office of the Head Auror – Ministry of Magic

"Harry," Ron dubiously addressed his partner and brother-in-law. "Are you sure pranking Kingsley was such a good idea?"

"Mate, it's his birthday. As soon as he's arrested, we'll have him brought here for his surprise birthday party," Harry placated his red-haired friend. "No worries."

"I hope he sees the humour in it," Ron said, feeling about downcast about the whole ploy. "I mean, a fake arrest? We could be sacked!"

"C'mon, you're George Weasley's brother. You know a good prank when you see it. Besides, we're high-ranking Aurors. What could possibly go wrong," Harry mused cheerfully. "Besides, he wouldn't sign it without reading it. I mean, no one's that bleeding thick! He'll come storming down to our department barking mad, and then we'll Apparate him to the Burrow. Simple!"

The next moment a Junior Auror tore into the office. "Chief Potter, we're on alert, sir! Possible Dark Arts at work in this very building, sir," he panted, trying to catch his breath.

Harry's smile stiffened and he immediately switched into full-Auror mode. "Report, Auror," he barked, causing even Ron to jump.

"The Minister for Magic is placed under arrest, sir! Shall I send Patronuses for a full-on mobilization if there's a pending attack to follow?"

Harry and Ron looked at each other. Kingsley arrested? It had to be their prank. Had Kingsley actually signed the order? Bloody hell.

"Um...no, just stand by. We'll investigate... Assistant Chief Weasley and I... you... just stay alert..." Harry said, suddenly flabbergasted. We are so screwed!

DMLE Holding Cell – Ministry of Magic

"Confess, Shacklebolt!"

"Confess what?"

"Your crimes!"

"What crimes?"

"The ones leading to your arrest!"

"I've seen an order for my arrest, but what are the charges," Kingsley asked, thoroughly exasperated with this entire farce.

"This is serious. Arrests on the direct order of the Minister for Magic—only the very worst crimes would illicit that."

"But it's my signature on that order," Kingsley said in an attempt to make the point that the situation was inexplicably ludicrous.

"So tell me, why did you sign it?"

"I must've signed it without reading it. Look, if you've seen the number of parchments I have to sign..."

"C'mon Shacklebolt! No one's so bleeding thick they'd sign a parchment without reading it first. I know you're a former Auror, trained to withstand intense interrogation, but we will get the truth out of you."

"I'm telling you the truth," Kingsley sighed. Are these people listening to themselves?

"Oh yes, you will soon enough. I'll recommend authorization for the use of Veritaserum due to your Auror training. That's the only way to know you aren't lying."

"You do that," Kingsley snorted under his breath. The man left and Kingsley was left alone in the holding cell. "What is happening here?"

A few minutes later, the top two Aurors in Britain arrived at the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol Office where Kingsley was currently detained. A grizzled strict-looking officer sat at a desk, thumbing through a back-copy of Popular Magic.

"Aurors Potter and Weasley," he greeted them, not rising, though he should have. "What's your business with the Patrols today, then?"

"I hear you've got Shack under arrest here," Harry growled.

"Mr Shacklebolt was brought here a while ago, yes sir," the officer confirmed. Snot-nosed brat.

"I'd like him transferred to the Auror Office immediately," Harry ordered, his emerald-green eyes boring holes in the insubordinate desk-officer.

"On what grounds? Is this a Dark Arts matter," the officer asked smugly, knowing it was not.

Bollocks. Didn't think of that. Harry hesitated long enough for a smirk to steal across the older man's lips.

"He's arrested by order of the Minister for Magic," the officer continued. "Only he can rescind it, sir."

"Arrested by his own order," Ron asked. "Doesn't that strike you as a bit odd, Sergeant?"

"Yes and yes, but mine is not to reason why; mine is but to do or die," the sergeant snorted.

"On what charges," Harry asked, thoroughly annoyed with this man's attitude. He would have words with his father-in-law about this man.

"He won't say, but it's only a specific number of very serious crimes that would cause the Minister to personally order an arrest, isn't there?"

This is bad. Harry noticed Ron making his We-Are-So-Very-Sacked grimace.

"He claims it's a misunderstanding, that he's signed the order without having read the parchment," the officer explained with a mocking tone, rolling his eyes. "But I don't believe that for a ruddy minute. No one's that bleeding thick."

"That's what I said, too," Harry agreed, in an attempt to improve Ron's mood. Ron had voiced his misgivings about the prank from conception to execution. Now he was feeling as though he was about to be executed.

"So, what makes this a Dark Arts matter, then," the officer asked snarkily.

"Never mind that," Ron snapped. "We need to see him. Now!"

The officer nodded. "Sure, sure. Don't get your knickers in a twist." The desk-officer rose from his desk with a groan, his paunch straining against the buttons of his robes. He released a ring of keys from a ring on his belt. "Follow me, sirs."

Ron leaned down to Harry's ear, his teeth gritted in a sneer. "I'm going to have words with Dad about this berk."

"Too right," Harry agreed in a half-whisper. "I think it's time for somebody to retire."

"The ruddy insubordinate prat needs to be ruddy sacked," Ron growled. "And since Dad runs the Department of Magical Law Enforcement..."

"We'll let Dad handle this, all right," Harry countered. "We'll just file the report and let it go."

"Fine, but…"

The key turned in the magical lock and the door swung open. Kingsley sat on the bunk deep in thought. He breathed an audible sigh of relief as Harry and Ron entered his cell.

"Nice place you've got here, Shack," Ron said lightly, but feeling more and more nauseated. "Who's your decorator? Mundungus Fletcher?"

"Shut it, you," Kingsley snarled. "What the bloody hell is going on around here?"

"Suppose you tell us what happened…from the beginning," Harry said seriously.

Kingsley launched into a full explanation of the events of the past couple of hours from his arrest to this very moment. "... and now, they want to dump Veritaserum down my neck, before determining whether to ship me off to Azkaban, keep me here, or release me on my own recognizance," Kingsley finished. "But I'm so glad you two showed up. I had no idea how stupid MLE Squad members are. Is Arthur aware of this?"

"I doubt it. Perhaps you might want to clue him in," Harry said. "Er... King... there's this one little thing."

"Tell me..." Kingsley said suspiciously.

"Well, first of all, Happy Birthday," Harry said with a pasted-on smile.

"Thank you, Harry. It's surely been a memorable birthday so far," Kingsley said ironically.

"The thing is... the order for your arrest was a prank," Harry admitted.

"What? I'll have George's head," Kingsley shouted.

"No, it…it wasn't George. You see…Mum's at the Burrow, having prepared a feast—for your birthday. Our job was to get you there," Ron said.

"And we thought you'd come storming into our department wondering what joker had placed an order for your arrest on your desk," Harry said quickly. "We never considered that possibility that you'd sign it without reading it."

"The plan was to grab you and Apparate to the Burrow," Ron explained sadly. "I guess we bollixed it all up good."

Kingsley looked at them with wide black eyes; it was hard to tell whether he was angry or amused. "That would've been funny," Kingsley said.

"Told you he'd like that prank, Ron," Harry said with a degree of relief.

"But I was so bleeding thick I signed the order without reading it, and now I'm temporarily relieved of my office, facing a trial for a crime I didn't commit—a crime nobody committed," Kingsley said. "And my temporary replacement is lost somewhere in the Department of Mysteries and may never be seen again."

Harry thought about the situation for a few moments. "Look, this is what we'll do: I'll explain the prank to the officers, and we're off to the Burrow before Molly goes spare about us being late."

"There's just one tiny problem, Harry," Kingsley said. "Only the Minister for Magic can order my release; otherwise, I must be found innocent in a trial before the entire Wizengamot."

"And he's lost at Level Nine, and the next Wizengamot session isn't for another month," Ron sighed.

"He's the one that can boot you two, you know," Kingsley added.

Harry paled. "Really?" Money wasn't the core of his fear of losing his job. He had more of that than all the gods on Olympus; it was more a pride-thing, an image-thing. The Great Harry Potter sacked.

Ron felt as though he was about to throw up. His job was his livelihood. Hermione would be furious and his family disgraced. "But…"

"Look, I know you didn't mean for this to happen. I simply wanted to see the look on your faces," Kingsley said with a booming laugh. "And it's priceless."

"For someone who might be shipped off to Azkaban, you seem uncommonly happy," Ron noted.

"At least there are no Dementors there anymore," Kingsley sighed. "Now, do what you can to get me out of here and I'll consider not transferring you to sanitary detail for the Ministry Owlery."

"Huh," Ron asked. "Sanitary detail? What?"

"Banishing owl droppings, mate," Harry clarified.

"Shovelling it... with your bare hands... if I have your wands snapped," Kingsley added with a private smirk.

"We'll get going on it right away, sir," Ron said, grabbing Harry by the arm.

The Burrow – Ottery–St Catchpole, Devon

Molly had prepared a feast worthy their friend and Minister for Magic. She was just overseeing the last details as the appointed time of the Minister's arrival with her youngest sons approached.

"Ginny, check the chocolate pudding, dear. Hermione, I need your help whipping the cream," the Weasley matriarch commanded, turning to her husband. "And I don't have to ask if Odgen's Old is ready for the welcome toast do I?"

Arthur glanced at his wife with a sheepish grin. He was as knowledgeable as a Mountain Troll in the kitchen, but Firewhiskey—now that was something he understood. A friend of one of his former colleagues in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office had given him a special double-oaked rare bottle of Odgen's Finest. He'd saved it for a special day, and Kingsley's birthday was special enough.

In the midst of the furor of the final preparations, green flames erupted from the fireplace with a whoosh! Harry and Ron stepped out, brushing soot and ash from their maroon Aurors' robes. Molly looked at them with steely brown eyes and her hands on her hips in her most-formidable pose.

"You're fifteen minutes early and none of the guests have arrived yet. Where's Kingsley, by the way?"

Both Harry and Ron blushed and gulped guiltily. There's nothing for it, lads. Tell the truth. Harry decided he'd be the one to speak, since he was the one who set this debacle in motion. He decided to go with his instincts and tell the truth, but sugar-coat it.

"He's... detained," Harry said to his boots.

"Detained? How so," Molly asked her eyes narrowing.

"Well... he's been locked up, Mum," Ron filled in, his ears bright red.

Molly's eyes darted between her youngest son and the young man she considered her seventh son. "How," she asked in an annoyed monotone.

"In a holding cell," Harry confessed. "MLE Patrols."

"By Merlin's warts why," Molly asked sharply.

"He's been arrested," Ron said.

"Say, Mum, we really need to sort this mess out. We'll explain later, honest, but would it be possible for you to hold the fort here until we can get Kingsley out," Harry asked.

"Hold your Hippogriffs, you two. Exactly why would Kingsley be arrested," Molly asked.

That was the question Harry and Ron had hoped she wouldn't have asked. "Be...because he signed a parchment ordering his own arrest," Ron said, steeling himself for the explosion he knew would come.

Molly's eyes flashed. "No one's so bleeding thick that they'd sign an order for their own arrest," Molly said.

"That's exactly what I thought too, when I cooked up that prank," Harry said spontaneously. Either Molly's going to have a go at you now or Ginny's going to have a go at you later, sport. Brace yourself. Suddenly, he felt nauseated. Ginny stood glaring at him. Her displeasure always caused him nausea.

Molly pinned Harry to the spot where he stood with her gaze. "So this is your fault, Harry?"

"Fault... dunno... you said it yourself, Mum. Who'd sign such a parchment in the first place," Harry said shakily, trying not to toss his tea.

"How's Kingsley holding up," Arthur asked, rather amused.

"He's told us to sort this out, or he'll snap our wands and demote us to shovelling owl droppings in the Ministry Owlery," Ron said dejectedly.

"Get going, then. I'll cast some preservation charms over the food," Molly decided, shooing them back through the Floo.

Harry sighed. Both he and Ron had carefully avoided meeting the eyes of their respective wives, their disturbingly silent wives, who both had listened but said nothing. I'll be sleeping on the couch tonight for sure. Or receive a Bat-bogey. Or both.

Magical Law Enforcement Patrol Office – Ministry of Magic, London

Harry and Ron had returned to the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol Office and told the officer everything about the prank. The watched the officer's reaction hopefully. "So, I'll put this in writing for you."

"Please do, Chief Potter," the officer said.

Harry quickly wrote down a confession of his prank and signed it.

The officer flicked his wand to archive it, before sitting again, nicking the Daily Prophet that lay on the desk. Harry and Ron looked puzzled. After a minute, the officer looked up at them.

"You're still here," he asked. "Is there something else?"

"Yes, we want Kingsley," Ron said.

"That's not possible," the officer replied in a manner worthy of Percy.

"But the parchment I just wrote..." Harry argued.

"... will certainly help Mr Shacklebolt in his upcoming trial next month. I'm certain the Wizengamot will clear him of all charges."

"But, there are no charges; only an arrest," Ron protested.

"And that's what he'll most certainly be cleared of," the officer concluded with a smile.

Harry scratched his head and looked at Ron. "You understand he's innocent and hasn't done anything to be locked up for, not even for a day, and certainly not for a month," Harry said, trying to reason with the dolt behind the desk.

"Your deposition makes that very clear, Chief Potter," the officer said.

"So let him out," Ron demanded. "Barking, this one, mate."

"Can't do that, sir. He's held by order of the Minister for Magic himself."

"And we explained how that happened..." Harry sighed.

"Indeed, but Ministry regulations require a full Wizengamot hearing, or the decision of the Minister for Magic, no matter the circumstances."

Harry and Ron looked at each other, sighed, and returned to their shared office in the Auror Division to formulate a plan.

"Owl droppings... probably sleeping on the couch... and who knows what Mum'll do with us?"

"Us? It was your brilliant idea," Ron huffed.

"And you participated," Harry snorted. "Hermione didn't look happy with you."

"I guess she thinks I should've stopped you, as if I could," Ron admitted.

"What do we do now? We can't let him sit there on ice for a month, let alone miss his birthday party. Oh…I'm so divorced," Harry moaned.

"Don't be a prat, Potter. Ginny would never divorce you. It isn't done. It'd disgrace the family," Ron grumbled. "But…we could disappear into the Department of Mysteries in search of their Head."

"A Time-turner," Harry countered with raised eyebrows.

"Mum," Ron said excitedly, dropping his feet from his desk.

"What do you mean, Mum?"

"Let's sic Mum on that Percy-ish bureaucratic Ministry-ized detached-from-reality boob of an officer," Ron said with an evil glint in his sapphire blue eyes.

"Why would she do that and how could we get her to," Harry asked.

"Well, you have a knack for buttering her up. She's far too fond of you and your striking green eyes," Ron said mockingly.

Harry felt a sudden spark of hope. "It's a question of making her think that she's the one coming up with the idea of whatever you want her to do," Harry revealed. "It just takes a bit of schmoozing."

"Schmoozing? What the…" Ron asked, dumbstruck.

"Muggle Yiddish. It means sweet-talk," Harry explained. "She's a sucker for it."

Harry stepped over to the Floo. Soon he stuck his head in the green flames. "Mum?"

"Harry dear. I'm sorry I was so hard on you and Ronnie, but I'm a bit worked-up with the feast and all."

"I understand that... You see, Ron and I are a bit worried. We really don't want to shovel owl droppings, but as Ministry employees, we have to follow regulations," Harry said and explained the situation. "So, we were wondering if you have any ideas, short of Ron and me breaking him out of there outright and putting the family's good name and our futures on the line." That'll get her. "I mean…we can handle a few Patrol Officers, it's just..."

Concern for her family's future overwhelmed her desire to lambaste her two youngest sons. "No, don't get yourselves into trouble. You say Ministry employees have to follow regulations?" Molly asked, with a George-like gleam in her eyes.

"Yes," Harry said with a nod. "That's right."

"Hang on, boys. Mother's coming," Molly said forcefully. "I'll talk to that officer. After all, I'm not a Ministry employee."

"Ok. We'll meet you outside the Patrol Office," Harry said. This is going to be good!

Harry pulled out of the flames and turned to Ron with a wicked grin.

"Mum's coming?"

Harry nodded, already shaking with laughter.

"Poor sod," Ron said, referring to the officer. "He'll be begging to retire once she's had a go at him!"

The two of them laughed all the way to DMLE, slapping one another on the back, congratulating one another for their brilliant plan.

Fifteen minutes later, Hurricane Molly Weasley stepped into the Patrol Office, full-steam ahead with Harry and Ron in tow, eager to watch the show. She approached the officer and leaned right down in his unshaven face. "We all know what happened... Let. Kingsley. Shacklebolt. Go. Now," she demanded, without even greeting the man.

"But..."

"But what? The man's guilty of a prank. What part of that do you pack of incompetent prats not understand?"

"As I explained to the Aurors, formally it's required that..."

"... that you let Kingsley Shacklebolt go! Now,"Molly screeched. "I have a soufflé that'll be ruined and if it falls, it'll be on your head! Charms can only do so much, you know!" Molly shook her finger in the man's horrified face. "My husband is the Head of this blasted Department and it's my sons you insulted! By Merlin, we could have your ruddy badge for this… this… stupidity!"

Molly locked her gaze at the man, as if she intended to hex him simply by looking at him. A silent battle of wills seemed to be fought right then, and the officer was losing miserably. After what seemed like hours, the officer's gaze flickered, and the surrendered with a sigh.

"Yes, Ma'am... of course Ma'am... could you sign here, Ma'am" the officer said in rapid succession conjuring up the release parchment.

"Not me, you great prat," Molly snapped. "Harry, Ronnie, get over here and sign this release. This idiot seems to think I'm authorized!"

"And have a nice day... feast... soufflé... Ma'am. Thank you, Ma'am. May I add that I did see your handiwork back in '98 at Hogwarts—the Lestrange woman."

"We shall and thank you," Molly said a bit calmer. "And you'd do well to apologise to your superiors before my husband hands you your walking papers."

"Y-yes. Right you are, Mrs Weasley," he stammered, turning to Harry and Ron. "I'm sorry for insulting you sirs. Please forgive me. I…I haven't had a vacation in two years. I—"

"Then I'd suggest you take one, Sergeant," Harry said, finishing his signature with a slight flourish. "See Arthur first thing Monday morning. Tell him Chief Potter sent you."

"Y-yes, sir. Thank you, sir," the desk-sergeant stammered, wiping sweat from his brow. He stopped talking, gave Molly thumbs up and folded the now-signed parchment.

"Thank you," Molly huffed. "Now open that cell and let that poor man out. We're half an hour late as it is! I still might be able to salvage the soufflé."

Minutes later, Harry, Ron, Molly, and a very-relieved Kingsley arrived at the Burrow in a blast of green flame. "Surprise," the gathered guests shouted and a very happy birthday party commenced and ran well into the night.

Mr and Mrs Potter's room

"Harry, You've managed to pull your arse out of the flames again, my love."

"Not without your Mum. I couldn't get those fools to budge an inch."

"We will still discuss this, you know."

"I know. I'm sorry, baby."

"Last one into the bed is a Flobberwoorm's mum!"

"Ginevra Molly Potter, you little vixen!"

Mr and Mrs Weasley's, the youngest ones named Ron and Hermione, room

"'Mione, tell me you're not mad at me," Ron moaned. "It was all Harry's idea."

"I know, my love," Hermione replied with a kiss on his cheek. "But next time my brother comes up with something this stupid, you have my permission to stun him."

Ron's face screwed up in an expression of confusion and then a bright grin spread across his lips. "As you wish." He then leaned in and gave his wife a sweet kiss.

It truly was a very happy birthday party.