Aspen Sunlight - A Summer Like None Other

"What sort of Slytherin does something for thanks, in any case?" asked Snape.

"I didn't!"

"I should hope not."

"I just don't like the idea that after all that, I had to be vouched for." Draco crossed his arms.

"You're in good company," said Snape dryly. "Or do you think they first trusted me for my sunny disposition? We're a pair, you and I."

Harry felt like that was his cue to go to the bedroom for a bit. "Well, I'll just leave you and Dad to work on that letter."

"Stay, Harry," said Draco. "I want you to read it, too. You know Rhiannon better than Dad does, and you understand Muggle thinking far better than either of us. Can you make sure I'm not coming across as . . . well, mental?"

It was ridiculous to feel so pleased, Harry thought. But he was. Father-son time was something good, for Draco as well as himself, but the three of them working on something together was even better.

"Sure," he said, dropping into a chair at the table. "But I don't think you have to worry."

Draco actually winced. "Say that after you read it, Harry. When I try to see it through her eyes, even I think I sound mental."

"Yeah, but remember that poster at the squib home, the one about that stupid telly programme? Rhiannon was talking like she believed in government conspiracies and flying saucers landing on Earth, and somebody named Cancer Man. I keep wondering if he's like Superman in reverse . . . but anyway, news of a war in the wizarding world won't sound all that strange, I bet. Not to her."

"Well, then thank Merlin for bad American telly programmes," sighed Draco.

Harry grinned. "Merlin didn't do it for thanks."

That got him groans from Snape and Draco both, but then they all leaned over together to read Draco's letter to Rhiannon.

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The mood was sombre in the kitchen of Number Twelve, that afternoon.

The full Order wasn't there, just the ones who most needed to hear Remus' report. Or maybe, Harry thought, just those who hadn't heard it already.

Yeah . . . Snape hadn't said anything one way or another, but Harry pretty much figured that Remus had already given Dumbledore a private report. The headmaster might have summoned some Order members to his office to be briefed privately.

It would explain, at any rate, why Tonks and Shacklebolt weren't at Grimmauld Place.

Some others were missing as well, but Harry didn't give them much thought. He was more concerned about the people in the room. Mr and Mrs Weasley, and Bill and Charlie, and the twins. Ron and Ginny weren't here, and Harry had a feeling that they weren't upstairs, either. They'd been left home, Harry thought. Like children, even though Ron was older than Harry was.

Harry grimaced, thinking that the decision to exclude them had likely been more Dumbledore's than Molly Weasley's.

"Now, now, none of that," said Fred, lightly punching Harry in the arm. "You look like you're the one who's lost a brother!"

Harry gave a sickly grin, trying to pretend he'd liked the humour. He didn't, though. How could anybody make jokes about a thing like this? But then the answer came to him. Fred was probably managing the only way he knew how, like Draco had said. Only with Fred, it wasn't a matter of keeping busy. He had another way to cope.

Harry pulled out a chair next to Fred, then, noticing that Draco had taken a seat almost directly across. Snape looked as though he didn't intend to sit at all; he was leaning against a wall, his expression forbidding, his arms crossed as though he had determined, in advance, to disapprove of every word that passed Remus' lips.

But then, he probably had.

Harry just hoped that Snape refrained from ripping Remus apart verbally. If he didn't, Harry thought fiercely, then Draco had every right to call their father a hypocrite, lecturing him on self-control!

He dimly registered that George, on the other side of Fred, was chuckling. Fred must have cracked another joke, one Harry hadn't even heard.

"Oh, come on, Harry," George suddenly exclaimed. "Where's the funeral?"

Fred guffawed.

"Boys," said Arthur Weasley from farther down the table. Glancing that way, Harry saw that Mrs Weasley had her face turned away. Well, she no doubt understood why her sons would act this way, but that didn't mean she was in the mood for morbid jokes.

Harry did his best to distract the twins. Leaning towards Fred, he spoke to them both. "Can you let Ginny know that Draco and I really appreciated her packing up our things?"

"Well, she is a little sweet on you, Harry--"

"Always has been," chimed in Fred.

"Be serious," said Harry, a moment before he realised that that was probably impossible. "She got over that years ago."

"Eh, she's just been playing it cool--"

"Your attention, please," said Dumbledore in his low, calm way. Harry hadn't noticed him coming in. He hadn't even noticed Remus, who was standing alongside him.

Snape had noticed, though. He was glaring.

Harry shot his father a critical look, hoping he didn't catch hell for it, later. It did the trick, though; Snape immediately schooled his expression into one of bored interest.

Remus didn't look well, Harry thought as the man slipped into a chair and sat with his head slightly bowed. There were lines of exhaustion around his eyes, and his posture reminded Harry of how he looked just after the full. He was in pain, obviously, even though his last transformation would have been two weeks earlier.

Pain . . . oh. Harry suddenly felt sick. He recognised this sort of pain. Not a werewolf matter, after all; anybody could suffer Cruciatus .

Harry frowned, hating the thought of Remus being punished like that. And if it was happening a lot, maybe Remus really didn't have what it took to carry on as a spy . . .

"The Wizengamot has met in emergency session," announced the headmaster as soon as he had everyone's full attention. "Following a little-used precedent, they have determined the individual best suited to become the next Minister of Magic. Rufus Scrimgeour, who these past few years has worked as Head of Magical Law Enforcement, is their choice for the post. I do not know the man well, but Kingsley has briefed me on his character. Scrimgeour is no fool, as Minister Fudge was. He is a hard pragmatist who will not hide from the truth."

"He won't arrange for Ministry personnel to work all hours without proper security?" asked Mrs Weasley in the silence that followed. Her tone was awful, Harry thought. Scathing and furious, but beneath all that was so much pain that it hurt Harry just to listen.

"No, Molly, he won't," said Dumbledore, very softly. "In fact, Rufus Scrimgeour had several times filed complaints about that very practice."

Molly made a huffing noise and turned her face away, as if to say, Too little, too late.

"What's this precedent you mentioned?" asked Moody, his face taut with suspicion. "Never have heard of a Minister being selected by the Wizengamot, bunch of fools that they are. What happened to good old-fashioned standing for election, eh? What happened to letting ordinary witches and wizards be the ones to select their leader?"

"The Department of Magical Elections has been utterly annihilated," said Albus quietly. Molly bit her lip, all the same. "The Wizengamot decided that an emergency measure was appropriate, in the circumstances."

"Didn't answer my question, though, did you now? What precedent did they dig up to push this through?"

"Selection by Divination."

Snape's nostrils flared, his eyes flashing with obvious scorn. "Our fearless leaders don't want the blame if their emergency measure makes things even worse. This way, they can fault the Tarot or the winds or some other such nonsense."