Chapter 18

Chasing suspect in a bitterly cold morning like this hadn't dimmed even one bit of his good mood.

Despite the burning pain in his legs and the uncomfortable pressure in his chest from inhaling too much of icy air as he dashed through the alley, he just couldn't stop grinning.

He would admit freely that last night was the most interesting night he'd ever had in months (yeah, don't get him wrong, he did love Ron and Hermione, and they would always be his best friends, but… three's a crowd and all).

He had sorely missed the so-called male bonding with Ron over drinks which happened rarely nowadays since the two had started going out officially.

And last night, he had it with Snape. There had been laughter and bickering, witty conversations without belittling anyone (well… anyone other than themselves), had gone through both awkward and comfortable silence, and most importantly no one would mind if they spend hours secluding themselves in the proverbial man cave.

If anyone told him that one day he would enjoy having a friendship with Snape, he would have referred the said person to the St. Mungo's mental ward.

And honestly, who'd have ever thought the dour Potion Master would be fun to hang out with?

A stray hex snapped him out of his thought.

He barely had time to duck.

It sailed over his head, then ricocheted and hit the stack of empty barrels a few feet on the wall in front of him, sending it tumbling down.

Without slowing down, he vaulted over the obstacle easily.

"OI, JUST GIVE UP!" he shouted indignantly to the suspect, pretty much annoyed with himself for losing focus when doing his job.

If the man had heard him, then he showed no sign of stopping.

The chase went on and on through the alley until both of them finally reached a straight line.

It was then when he stopped and carefully aimed his wand. With a swift move, he shot a full body bind to the suspect. And unlike the suspect's desperate attempt, his spell reached his target perfectly.

In the blink of an eye, the other man crumpled to the ground, unable to move.

Still breathing hard, he went over and seized the suspect's wand, and then just like the Auror's usual procedure demanded, secured the man with the thin, snake-cords that burst from the end of his wand and twisted themselves around the suspect's mouth, wrists, and ankles, and then… he waited.

Though not for long, as a minute or two later, his team caught up.

"You got… him?" Ron called out breathlessly.

Turning around, he presented the trussed up suspect with a slight bow.

His red headed best friend muttered a foul curse under his breath.

"My dear Won Won, such language… if your mum heard it…" he trailed off.

"Yeah, well, she isn't here, is she?" his best friend said with a scowl. "And don't call me that!"

"Yeah, sure… pay up!" he said, holding his hand out with a huge grin.

With a grumble, Ron slapped a sickle – their private wager on who would catch the suspect first – to his outstretched hand.

With mischievous grin, he flipped the sickle high in the air and caught it with practiced ease, making Ron scowled harder.

Then tilting his head, he cast a critical eye over his best friend. "Hermione has a point, you know…," he said, his eyes fixed on the slight bulge on Ron's waistline. "Shouldn't you try to lose a few pounds?"

"Oh, shut up!" Ron growled.

Smothering his snigger, he pocketed the coin.

That had been a sore spot for Ron as when the redhead had stopped expanding vertically, he started to expand horizontally. And given Ron's obsessive love affair with foods, obviously, any attempt of dieting was failing, badly.

He felt sorry for him, but in the same time, he found it hilarious.

This time a snigger finally escaped his mouth.

Before Ron could slug him, the captain called out to them, interrupting their honest day-to-day ribbing, "Boys," the captain said with a grave face. "We've been asked to pull back. I've got a word from higher authority there was a suicide bombing at the Ministry just ten minutes ago…"

He saw the look of confusion on Ron's face, instead of concern. And he had a right to it. A suicide bombing wasn't a common term in magical world, for it spoke about Muggle's act of terrorism.

Though, if that word was being associated to the Ministry, it couldn't be a good thing, could it?

And he was right about it, because their captain next words were, "…there are casualties."

XxXxX

Days later, the panic over what the Daily Prophet dubbed as the second Dorcus incident, still hadn't receded, because despite the fact that no one had actually died in that devastating incident, many had been hurt—mostly, the Ministry's staffs. They were unfortunate enough to be caught up in the explosion while preparing for the Christmas charity event later that day.

After that incident, the number of Muggle-hating crimes had gone through the roof. The Wizarding world's radical anti-Muggle movement which bent on eradication of Muggles was gaining more and more support each day.

Even the Aurors force hadn't been spared from the conflict, and some even pulled mutiny acts when was ordered to protect Muggles from their fellow wizards' attack.

Admittedly, who could stay impartial about the whole thing when facing the real threat to their very existence, to their family and loved ones?

A single Muggle had passed through the charm that supposed to turn them away and struck terror right into the very heart of the Wizarding world.

Now, the question was if one Muggle could walk through the boundaries so easily, what would stop the rest of their kind from doing more terrible things next time?

Still, (he was a bit thankful, even though he was still troubled about it), his presence somehow served as brake, and prevented the situation to fully develop into a full-blown war, which if they really did go to war, they would eventually lose as Muggles outnumbered them, thousands to one—a fact that had been woefully ignored by most.

So, he let the Ministry crudely milked his fame as 'the Savior'. He didn't even uttered a single word of complaint and let them paint him as a ridiculous superhero character; last he heard from Hermione that the newspaper made him sound like a cross-over between Rambo and Die-hard protagonist.

Grudgingly, he accepted this new role as the mascot.

Unfortunately, soon, he learnt that his fame alone wasn't enough in the face of adversity, this big.

With the investigation coming to a dead end—no one could explain how or why the dead bomber had done it – the older generation started to complain that he looked too young, too inexperienced (Inexperienced? Ha! They could bloody try having a mad wizard who kept trying to do them in for seven bloody years!)

In their eyes, he was plainly undependable because of his age.

It was the end of week two after the bombing when Kingsley proposed a plan, the most dreadful plan he'd ever heard in his life.

"Excuse me… have you lost your bloody mind?" he blurted out, far too surprised to be polite. Before Kingsley could say anything, he said quickly, "There is no way he'd agree to this!"

"Harry… Potter, if there is any other way, I wouldn't ask you of this," the Minister said, finality in his voice.

"No," he said, stuck his chin up stubbornly. "You can't make me do this. Not a chance."

Kingsley was silent for a while before replying, "Then… I will do what I have to do."

"What do you mean?" He suddenly frowned. "Are you saying if he does not comply, you're going to use force?" he said, his voice rising in simulated disbelief and scorn.

"Everything is for… the greater good," said Kingsley somberly.

"For—?" He gaped and then said with outrage, "To hell with that!"

He wasn't so disillusioned to believe that the governing body he worked for wouldn't resort to dirty tricks. But this… this was a new low, even for Kingsley, or maybe because it's Kingsley; because once they were comrades who had fought for the same cause.

And one shouldn't throw other to the wolves, just because they were justified to do it.

Furious, he said, "You, the Ministry, were all too happy to let him rot in Azkaban!" to remind Kingsley about what had happened many months ago.

As a person of the highest authority, Kingsley couldn't be caught in league with a known murderer; even though Dumbledore's death was clearly planned by Dumbledore himself. Snape's pardon had been the result of the members of Dumbledore's Army efforts to garner public's sympathy, rather than the so-called 'the Ministry's insight'—as it would be the height of unfairness, if after everything Snape had done for them, the man would end up in Azkaban.

"He doesn't owe you anything!" he said hotly. "Well, you know what? You can take your plan and shove it up your bloody—!"

"Enough!" Kinsley cut off his tirade with a stern look. "Please, remember yourself, Auror Potter!"

He closed his mouth, chest burning with impotent anger, but in the end, he managed to find his manners.

"Apologize, Minister," he said coolly while in truth he was more than just ticked off by Kingsley's one-sided decision.

"So do I, Harry Potter," said Kingsley a moment later, even though both of them knew they didn't really mean it.

He realized just then that this wasn't a discussion, not really.

This was evidently a clever trap meant for him because Kingsley knew him very well by now; the older wizard knew if he was given time, he would never agree to it, that he'd plot to thwart it.

Therefore, he'd only been told about this plan at the same time the Ministry's spokesperson had leaked the news of Snape's recovery to the public.

The irony of that he had just been stabbed in the back by the office he trusted left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"I'll do it," he said after a long silence, rising from his chair to stare down icily at Kingsley. "But not for you, not for the Ministry, not even…" He paused, his lips twisted in a mirthless smile, "…for the greater good. But because he deserves to at least hear an explanation from a friend, and not from strangers demanding favors."

End of Chapter 18

A/N: if interested, you can find the story about Dorcus Twelvetrees at Rappaport's Law By J.K. Rowling.