Yes, He IS!

Headmaster’s Office, 1:00 PM, Sunday, June 25, 1995

Everyone—including Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape—instantly stood at the well-respected Witch’s arrival…in fact, they all assumed positions of “at attention”, as if they were Muggles in a branch of Her Majesty’s Armed Forces, and their Most Senior officer had arrived for a surprise inspection.

Augusta quickly motioned for everyone to sit, even as she wandlessly Conjured a chair of her own. “Albus,” she quietly asked as she sat down, “how much of this is true?” She placed the Special Edition of the Daily Prophet on his desk.

Quickly skimming over Rita Skeeter’s article, Dumbledore was surprised (yet pleased) that the reporter’s usual acerbic, sensationalistic style had been replaced by simple, if frightening and painful, facts. He read it aloud to those assembled in his office.

After finishing, he spoke. “Sadly, Lady Longbottom,” he addressed her formally, “this is all true.”

At this, sad, silent statement, Augusta’s famous red handbag fell from her grip to the floor. As she retrieved it, she was puzzled by the number of people who shifted uncomfortably in their seats. She wisely held her tongue, though…for now.

While the article had only contained facts—and Augusta’s demeanor indicated she wouldn’t need the confirmation of the Pensieve’s contents—Albus had the sad task of informing Neville’s grandmother of Amos Diggory’s grief, over his son’s death. “I’ll head over there later,” the Pureblood Witch quietly said.

”In the meantime,” she continued, looking at Professor Sprout, “Madam Sprout, if you’re to have an able successor, then said successor will need to be well-equipped!”

Turning to her son’s only offspring, Augusta confessed, “I recently realized, after far too long a time, that I was wrong to force you to take your father’s wand, Neville. I’d hoped that, by using it, you’d be the same as your father.”

Neville knew better than to interrupt his Gran; however, he did find the wherewithal to meet her gaze, as she gathered her thoughts. Augusta finally said, “I’ve come to realize that you are your own person, and that you need your own wand from Ollivander’s. Also, I think you’ve chosen all of your friends well; that’s always a good thing.” Even as they blushed at the compliment, Harry and Hermione quietly thanked Mrs. Longbottom for her vote of confidence, pleased that there was no expression of denial—spoken or otherwise—from anyone else…especially Professor Snape.

Neville’s heart raced at the prospect of his own wand—hoping that, somehow, his parents would understand—then realized his Gran was again addressing the Headmaster.

”Is there anything else I need to know?” she asked, now eyeing the Pensieve.

”’…need to know?’ Probably not,” came the answer. “There’s always the possibility that another’s perspective could serve us well, though,” Albus said, as Severus—obviously wanting to put a little distance between himself and certain former classmates—guided the formidable Witch to the device.…

”I may have a couple of ideas, Dumbledore; I’ll try to let you know something soon,” Augusta said, after viewing Harry’s memories. “For now, though, I believe I owe my grandson a trip to Diagon Alley.”

After the Longbottoms had Flooed to the wandmaker’s, and Harry and Hermione had left to resume studying for their End-of-Year exams, Albus looked hard and long at Remus, Sirius and Severus. “While Poppy and Rubeus are taking Ara home, the four of us are going to ‘discuss’ playing with some new ‘ground rules’, as some Muggles say.” His tone made it clear, though, that the “discussion” would be one-sided, and final.

”The time for animosity has come to an end,” Albus Dumbledore stated firmly. “The same thing goes for pranks—childish, potentially dangerous, or otherwise (here Remus and Sirius both lowered their gazes)—as well as vindictively revealing private information about others’ private lives.” Now, it was Snape’s turn to squirm.

”You two may go,” he addressed the two Marauders. After they’d left, Albus took a few moments, further gathering his thoughts, then somberly addressed Snape. “I’ll be speaking with Hagrid later, as well, about a task only he can undertake. Until then, you doubtlessly know what I need for you to do, Severus…,” he began.

”I do, Sir,” Snape spoke up. “Fortunately, I have my duties as a Hogwarts Professor—including helping supervise the Third Task—to explain my absence last night….”

”And the others who were mentioned in the circle last night…?”

The Burrow, Sunday, 3:45 PM

”Does that get us covered with the Goblins, Bill?” Arthur Weasley asked his firstborn.

”I think so, Dad,” Bill answered. “I’ve got a couple of favors to call in, so that can help bring in some much-needed Galleons, and that should lead to better raw supplies that we can transform into things we can use.” He was careful not to use words like “weapons” within his mother’s hearing: Molly was, once again, a bundle of nerves, about the safety of her children, four of whom they’d left behind upon returning home. Needless to say, if it hadn’t been for Hogwarts’s upcoming exams, Bill and his parents would not have been the only ones returning to the Burrow.

”How’s your list for the Minister coming along?” he now asked his father. They’d been bent over, throwing out names—obvious and possible—ever since arriving home.

”Not bad…just depressing, about how long this list is growing,” came the response. I only hope Severus has enough Veritaserum to confirm these, one way or the other,” Arthur mused.

”Maybe we’ll get lucky, and someone will give us an entire list of names.”

Bill’s offhand remark made Arthur jerk upright. “Well, we’ll just ask your brother first—after we’ve convinced him about…current events—and then, I want a crack at Dolores Umbridge! I have a sneaking suspicion about her….”

”You really don’t like her, do you?” Bill chuckled.

”No, I don’t, especially the way she’s always trying to restrict Werewolves and Muggleborns,” Arthur said firmly, his blood beginning to boil. “Why, she’s only a Halfblood herself!” Normally, the Pureblood Weasley Family embraced Halfbloods, Muggleborns, and even the occasional Squib. Umbridge, however, was in a class of her own.

”Isn’t she in Minister Fudge’s ‘camp’, though? Aren’t you afraid of alienating yourself from him again, after coming so far to have him realize…?” Bill stopped, as he read the answer to his question in his father’s face. The last time William Weasley had seen that look, he’d been grounded from playing Quidditch for a month. Percy and Delores weren’t going know what hit them!

Deciding to really “stoke the fire”, Bill suggested, “Why don’t we just get it over with, and take them on at the same time? Maybe they’ll try to outdo each other, in spilling names?”

”That would be fine with me!” Arthur said. “Oh, and to answer your earlier question, thanks to Harry’s Pensieve memories, I’m not even sure Fudge is in Fudge’s ‘camp’ anymore!”

Bill’s laugh was only interrupted by Molly’s summons to tea….

The Burrow, Monday, June 26, 7:30 AM

”Are you sure about this, Dear?” Molly was asking her husband over a quick breakfast. Bill had already departed, to speak with Lord Gringott himself, having owled the bank’s owner the day before. While Bill was careful not to include specifics in his missive, the two had, long ago, developed a “code” that would alert each other to trouble, while including language that would be meaningless, if it fell into the hands of any Dark Witch or Wizard.

”Yes, we are, Molly. Bill and I are meeting in the Minister’s office at 8:00. Percy is due at 8:15, and—with any luck—we’ll have him straightened out just in time for Rita Skeeter and Undersecretary Umbridge’s arrival at 9:00.”

Finishing his morning meal and tea, he took a quick glance at the Daily Prophet:

read the fake headline Arthur and Cornelius had agreed on Saturday night in Dumbledore’s office. Arthur chuckled.

A trap was ready to be sprung, and with any luck, the cells at the Ministry—and even Azkaban—would be a lot fuller very soon.