Chapter Text
“And what exactly did you want with me, Lucius?” Professor Dumbledore asked politely, a clear blue fire blazing in his eyes as he stared down the pureblood who had so rudely invaded Hagrid's hut in the dead of the night.
“Dreadful thing, Dumbledore,” Mister Malfoy demurred as if he didn't notice the disapproval, rummaging under his cloak for a long roll of official looking parchment. “But the governors feel it's time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension – you'll find all twelve signatures on it.” He handed it over with a flourish and a smirk. “I'm afraid we feel you're losing your touch. How many attacks have there been now? Two more this afternoon wasn't it?” he asked slyly, “At this rate, there'll be no muggleborns left at Hogwarts, and we all know what an awful loss that would be to the school,” he lamented, the faintest shadow of a triumphant smirk curling on the edge of his lips as he inclined his head.
Minister Fudge went pale.
“Oh! Now! See here, Lucius,” he blustered, looking alarmed, “Dumbledore suspended? No, no... last thing we want just now....”
Mister Malfoy rolled his eyes. “The appointment – or suspension – of the headmaster is a matter for the governors, Fudge,” the former Slytherin pointed out smoothly, impatience colouring the edge of his tone. “And as Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks....” he trailed off meaningfully with a significant look at the stony faced wizard in question.
“Oh!” Fudge exclaimed, “But I have a solution! One that.... upon second thought, I dare say would actually work better with the governors' decision....” he fussed with a sudden frown.
Hidden under the invisibility cloak, Harry and Ron exchanged nervous glances. They didn't like the sound of that.
“Oh? Do tell, Minister, do tell,” Mister Malfoy drawled, looking bored.
The Minister glanced at Dumbledore before nervously mopping at his sweaty forehead, “Well, you see, it's all rather obvious, isn't it?” he asked imploringly, looking around at them all. “This Heir of Slytherin malarkey. Slytherin's Monster. Why, the man was most well known for being a Parselmouth, amongst other things. You Know Who is a known descendent who could speak it, and we know the talent is hereditary. The House crest is a snake – it stands to reason that the monster must be a snake of some description,” the politician explained logically, wringing his hands, and his handkerchief.
Harry felt Ron palm his face quietly behind him, muttering about why they hadn't thought of that. Meanwhile, the green eyed Gryffindor began to get an idea of where Fudge was going with all this, and felt sick.
“I assume you have a point, Fudge?” Mister Malfoy sneered coldly, making the Minister flinch.
“Of course! Of course! Err, y-yes, well, I mean, people talk, you know? And given recent events – and discoveries – bearing in mind that the monster is likely to be a snake, some people at the Ministry – notme – are beginning to wonder if You Know Who didn't go after the Potters because he didn't want... competition. And while I don't think for one minute that Mister Potter is responsible for the attacks, the fact remains that he's the only one capable of controlling the monster that we know of and – ” he rambled, sweating nervously in his pinstripes as Dumbledore's eyes got colder and colder as he spoke, Hagrid began to swell and redden threateningly, and Mister Malfoy's eyes began to glitter with something an awful lot like glee in the candle light of the hut.
Harry felt like someone had shoved a hand into his chest and squeezed his lungs shut. He couldn't breathe.
Hagrid exploded.
“JEST WHAT ARE YEH TRYIN' TE INSINUATE?!!” he roared, starting forward only to stop as Dumbledore's arm shot out to bar his way. Fudge squawked and scrambled backwards in shock. “THA' HARRY IS RESPONSIBLE FER ALL'A THIS?! THA' A TWELVE YEAR OLD BOY WOULD – I OUGHTTA – ” He made a violent hand motion and stepped forward again, ignoring Dumbledore's arm against his stomach, as if it weren't even there, only to stop and go silent when Mister Malfoy snorted nastily.
“Twelve is hardly any different to thirteen,” he reminded them unpleasantly, eyeing the groundskeeper with a nasty smirk. “How old were you when Headmaster Dippet – ”
Dumbledore interrupted, his voice as mild as milk, but utterly implacable. “I will never allow one of my students to be expelled without evidence of wrong-doing, Cornelius.”
“Ahhh, but Dumbledore, there's nothing for you to allow, is there?” Mister Malfoy interrupted with dark amusem*nt. “Did you forget already? You've been suspended as Headmaster of Hogwarts. There's nothing you can do to prevent the Minister from taking whatever action he sees fit in your absence,” he explained silkily as Dumbledore went very, very still.
Fudge fiddled with his hat, “It is merely a precaution, Albus,” he pleaded quietly, like a child seeking approval. “For the peace of mind of the public, once the Heir is caught, Mister Potter can resume his education at Hogwarts, his record clear. But – but for now, the Ministry must be seen to do something, Albus. I hope you understand....”
“You are making a grave mistake, Cornelius,” Dumbledore stated ominously, his eyes cold.
The Minister seemed to wilt a little before taking a breath and straightening up. “We will see. Hagrid, if you would?” he asked, stepping to one side and gesturing to the door. “Auror Dawlish is waiting outside. He will escort you to the Ministry for Processing while I speak to Madam McGonagall about Mister Potter.”
Hagrid looked like he would have rather fed the Minister to Fluffy. Piece by piece.
“Yer a blitherin' idiot who ought t'go an' boil his head. 'Arry's a good lad. Heir o'Slytherin, an' I'm the Queen o' Tir-nan-ogg,” he scoffed darkly, his voice dripping with a vicious brand of sarcasm that Harry had never heard from him before. “Yeh'll regret this day, mark me, yeh'll regret it!” he snarled even as he stormed out.
Dumbledore carefully rolled the Order of Suspension up and tucked it into his sleeve. “Actions, like words, once taken cannot be reversed,” he informed the room at large solemnly even as he swept after his groundskeeper. “I hope you are prepared for the consequences, Cornelius,” he stated grimly.
“Worry about yourself, Dumbledore,” Mister Malfoy chuckled darkly, “and where it is you're going to be sleeping from now on.”
The headmaster sniffed dismissively, “I will always worry about my students over myself Lucius,” he admonished mildly. “They need only reach out and ask, and I shall do everything within my power to aid them.”
The blond wizard scoffed, making clear what he thought of Dumbledore's aid as the headmaster left the hut completely.
The two remaining wizards didn't bother to linger. They left, the door swinging shut behind Fudge, and Harry's legs gave out beneath him in disbelief and horror. The thud of his knees hitting the floorboards muffled by Fang's barking as he scratched on the heavy door between him and his person.
Slowly Ron stripped out of the invisibility cloak, his voice stuck somewhere between his throat and his chest, unable to comprehend what had just happened. With absolutely no justification or proof or – or –
The Minister of Magic had expelled Harry Potter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Could he even do that? Just.... ruin some kid's entire future because he wanted to without anyone able to say anything? Dumbledore could, had tried, would have tried, but couldn't because Malfoy's father had done something to make the board of governors dismiss the headmaster and –
He shuddered, grabbing his friend's arm. “Harry, c'mon, we have to go!” he croaked fearfully. “If Fudge shows up at the tower and we're not there....” he trailed off, imagination going wild with terror. If the Minister were willing to expel his bestfriend for just being a convenient target, then how would he react if Harry actually made it look like he was the Heir? Wondering around who knew where after curfew, having an invisibility cloak to help him along? He might throw him into Azkaban along side Hagrid!
Somehow he managed to push, pull, drag, and cajole his insensate bestfriend up to Gryffindor Tower under the cover of the cloak, actually managing to get him inside before he just froze all over again, staring up at everything as if it were the last time he would ever lay eyes on it. Which – no, Ron didn't want to think about it as he pulled the cloak off and, breaking all forms of etiquette, began to stuff it into Harry's front pocket while trying not to cringe at how this would look to anyone walking in.
It wasn't a moment too soon either, as almost immediately after the portrait door swung open, admitting a white faced, thin lipped Professor McGonagall and a stony faced Minister Fudge.
Ron shifted protectively in front of Harry and glared at the Minister with a quivering bottom lip. He had lost Hermione, he couldn't – wouldn't – lose Harry too!
Professor McGonagall opened her mouth but Ron found himself cutting her off without thinking. “You can't expel Harry! Not just because he's a Parselmouth! That's not fair!” he shouted, gripping his bestfriend's shoulders tightly as if to shield him from their plans. He could feel Harry shaking, the faintest of hitches in his breath that he knew from experience with Ginny that heralded tears and felt something hot and ugly boil in his gut. “HE'S NOT THE HEIR! HERMIONE'S IN THE HOSPITAL WING AND HIS OWN MUM WAS A MUGGLEBORN! SO WHAT IF HE CAN SPEAK TO SNAKES? HE DIDN'T EVEN KNOW HE COULD! HE JUST THOUGHT EVERYONE COULD DO IT! YOU CAN'T EXPEL HIM!”
“Ron? Professor? What's going on?”
Percy, in his nightclothes, looking very young and gangly at the top of the stairs, his night shirt one of their dad's old ones, hung just below his knees revealing skinny pale legs.
“Return to your dormitory, Mister Weasley,” the Minister blustered even as the whole of Gryffindor Tower began to stumble out of their dormitories and down the stairs in their night clothes, rubbing sleep from their eyes or staring in confusion at the confrontation happening below. At the way Ron Weasley was curled protectively around a violently shaking Harry Potter, the Minister looking increasingly alarmed and sweaty stood next to a stony faced and suspiciously bright eyed Professor McGonagall.
Ron turned to Percy, pointing accusingly at the Minister.
“HE ARRESTED HAGRID FOR NO REASON AND NOW HE WANTS TO EXPEL HARRY JUST FOR BEING A PARSELMOUTH!” the red head bellowed, red faced and frantic, “HE CAN'T! IT'S NOT FAIR!”
“Life isn't fair, Weasley!” Fudge snapped, “Like it or not, Mister Potter has been expelled, and if you don't want to end up in a cell in Azkaban for obstruction of justice you'll quiet down and do as you're told!”
Murmurs and protests went up amongst the Gryffindors, always easy to rile and get worked up over a perceived injustice. Even those who had been playing with the idea of Harry being the Heir of Slytherin were incensed. This wasn't how it was supposed to be done, wasn't how it should be. Where was the trial, the evidence, the proof?
Not even the Minister could expel someone, or throw them in Azkaban, without proof!
That wasn't how things were done!
“DO IT THEN!” the red head roared, voice easily tearing through the clamour beginning to kick up in the tower, squaring up to now red faced Minister, his blood roaring in his ears, burning like fire under his skin. “GO ON THEN! ARREST ME! YOU SEEM TO BE DOING IT TO EVERYONE ELSE!”
“RON NO!” Harry suddenly yelled, grabbing him and pulling him backwards. “You can't! You can't! Hermione – someone has to – you have to stay and protect Hermione,” he moaned quietly. “I'll go,” he announced, loudly enough to be heard. “I'll go, just – just please, leave Ron alone,” he begged, quickly moving away from his friend as the red head tried to grab at him, Percy already down the stairs and catching his youngest brother before he could do something to really get in trouble.
“What – wait – Harry no! This isn't fair! He can't do this! Surely there are laws or something!” Ron protested as Harry shuffled over to McGonagall and Fudge.
“I am the Law, Mister Weasley,” Minister Fudge bit out harshly, “and after this display, you should be thankful that I don't Fire your father.”
Ron went white then red with anger and fear, mouth fastening shut so hard his lips vanished while Percy looked like he had been stabbed in the stomach, freckles standing out starkly on his too pale skin. Whatever everyone else's facial expressions were, Fudge seemed to realise he had gone a step too far in front of far too many people. He blustered a little and drew himself up, gesturing impatiently for Harry to hurry up out of the room before treating Professor McGonagall to a particularly sour look before he stormed out.
She observed her lions for a moment before nodding her head stiffly. “Return to your dormitories, I will address this incident in the morning. Come along, Potter,” she told them before her tone gentled considerably as she guided Harry out of the room.
He looked over his shoulder as he left, and Ron felt as if someone had clawed his stomach out when he saw that Harry's cheeks were wet.
Whether it was because he was secretly enjoying it, or he was taking out his annoyance and frustration about how he was treated, but Minister Fudge seemed to take a malicious amount of satisfaction out of bringing Harry's loyal holly wand down over his knee. The loud crack of snapping wood tearing through the room like a gunshot.
The broken hilt and shaft were unceremoniously slapped into his open palms. Harry stared down at them mutely as he heard the Minister saying something to Professor McGonagall, whether he left then Harry didn't know because it was then that it all came crashing down on him. Everything and all at once.
He gripped his wand to his chest and crouched down, curling himself over it silently.
He had learned years ago to keep his grief quiet, to cry without making a sound.
He had not yet fallen out of practice enough to let even the wail that clawed like a thing alive up his throat out.
He gritted his teeth and pressed his lips shut against his snivelling even as his nose began to run and his eyes continued to burn and stream like a pair of taps not completely turned shut. He could feel Professor McGonagall kneel on the ground next to him, her thin but strong arms wrapping around him tightly, smelling of ink, parchment, lavender, and gingerbread. She stroked his head and didn't bother with useless empty platitudes as she let him cry himself out. She just held him until he could pull himself together.
And when he was done, she let him have a moment to collect himself before pulling back, leaving a chill where she had once been. “Come along, Potter. Your belongings will have been collected by now. We'll say goodbye to your friends, get some breakfast into you, and then I'll.... I will take you home,” she finished, her voice wobbling.
He choked on a fresh well of tears. “This was my home,” he croaked miserably, gripping his broken wand as if his hands were glued to it, the rough splinters digging into his flesh.
She was gentle as she urged him off the floor. She didn't hurry him through the corridors as he plodded along slowly, pausing every now and again to absorb his surroundings, trying to engrave them into his memories before the beautiful dream of the last year and a half truly did fade and die completely. She let him take his time, let him breathe it in, and tried not to let her own heartbreak show.
Minerva couldn't remember the last time Hogwarts had expelled a student, she knew there were at least two incidents after Hagrid had been dismissed, but she couldn't recall when. Both reasons for such were warranted though, nothing nowhere near as pointless or malicious as simply possessing a frowned upon blood-borne talent. She seethed quietly in the recesses of her mind as somehow even Peeves sensed the sombre mood and paused long enough, and quietly enough, for Harry to say his goodbyes to the often disagreeable mischief maker.
Expelled for being a Parselmouth. She doubted it. She highly doubted it.
Most people forgot, what with how he constantly hung on the Floor for Albus's advice, that Cornelius Fudge was a manipulative cunning little bastard. Oh, he was arrogant, stubborn, and both spineless and overly proud in equal and unhelpful measures, but he despite how foolish and idiotic he was, he had the ability to think in the long term, to gain flashes of brilliance and insight decades before they would be useful. It was how he became the Minister for Magic, how he even gained the right to campaign to begin with. He started his political career early, barely half a decade out of Hogwarts, those early decisions, that brief flash of insight before his eyes were blinded by galleons, took him to the top during his lack-lustre campaign that was only half-heartedly funded by his wife's widower of a father.
If Cornelius Fudge hadn't expelled Harry Potter as an attempt to curb a future political rival, she would kiss Argus Filch full on the mouth!
Really! By the time Harry was in any position politically or even physically to campaign as Minister for Magic, Fudge would have retired or moved into the Wizengmot and thus been unable to even hold his office. It was, after all, illegal to be Minister and retain a seat – a gross conflict of interest.
When they re-entered the Tower, she was unsurprised to find her lions still awake and waiting. Judging by the low murmur of voices and the looks on their faces, Mister Weasley the Youngest had given them all the complete run down of what had occurred – though how he happened to know that the Minister had arrested Hagrid was something she would love to know.
She lifted a hand to preemptively silence them before they could even begin.
“Stop. Mister Potter, Misters Weasley, all those relevant, take your goodbyes to the dormitories while I speak to the rest of your House,” she commanded, gently giving Harry's shoulder a small squeeze and letting go so he could go to his friends. Dry-eyed now but subdued, as he quickly moved to Mister Weasley's side and took his hand, pulling the scowling red head up the stairs to the second year dorms, all of his yearmates, the Weasley twins, Mister Percy Weasley, and the Gryffindor Quidditch team scrambling after them. Everyone else was barred by a ferocious Lee Jordan at the foot of the stairs telling them to butt their ugly noses out.
“The Minister can't just do that, can he, Professor?” one of the fifth year girls asked, clutching her dressing down around her tightly. “Expel someone without warning?”
Minerva sighed and took a seat in one of the quickly vacated armchairs.
“No doubt Mister Weasley has informed you of what has occurred, but, just to confirm the facts: Yes, the Ministry of Magic has seen fit to step in on the Chamber of Secrets incident,” she explained solemnly. “The board of governors have suspended the Headmaster over the matter, they do not believe he has done enough to try and prevent the attacks, and they lack confidence in his ability to protect the students. As a result, there was no one in any position of authority to argue the Minister's decision to expel Mister Potter.
“Hagrid, whom I am sure many of you know and are fond of, was previously connected to the Chamber incident fifty years ago. The Ministry has decided that in order to handle the current unrest, all individuals connected are to be removed from Hogwarts. As such, even though he possesses both mine and Headmaster Dumbledore's complete trust and confidence, Hagrid has been arrested and consigned to Azkaban Prison for the foreseeable future – ”
“But Professor!” a sixth year piped up frowning, “surely he got a trial? Right? They can't just decide he's guilty and throw him in without proof!”
Minerva sighed, “Unfortunately, Miss Brown, the Minister for Magic can. During times of civil unrest he can move with autonomy outside the norm. Originally it was so that the Minister could sign emergency laws into practice, executive orders, to work for the betterment of Magical Britain should he ever feel his office was compromised in any way. With spells like imperio, compulsions, potions, and curses, it has been a very real concern during times of war.” She took a deep breath and wished, not for the first time in the last twenty four hours, for a very stiff drink. “However, due to administrative errors during You Know Who's last rise, the unrest, the sudden disappearance, the political backlash from many prominent pureblood families suddenly claiming to be under the influence of imperio, the mad scramble to maintain the Statute immediately after his fall with witches and wizards partying in the streets, the procedures were never written off.
“Legally and officially, England is still in a period of civil unrest, thus giving the Minister complete authoritative control outside the bounds of the law. As such, on top of arresting Hagrid without trial, he can also expel whomever he wishes from Hogwarts as long as the Headmaster does not object. And as Lucius Malfoy saw to Professor Dumbledore's suspension....” she trailed off, letting her words hang with stark ugly insinuations she had no intention of attempting to correct.
“But, why did he expel Potter?” one of her forth years demanded, scowling. “Did he really set the Monster loose?”
She frowned at him, “I am going to pretend you did not say that, Mister Strucker. There will be no accusations, no blame, without first there being proof. A young man has just had his entire future ruined without proof or justification, he has been expelled from these halls for no other reason than being able to speak Parseltongue. That is all. The Minister has reasoned that as Slytherin's Monster is currently believed to be a serpent of some variety that surely there must be some manner of connection. Ignoring the fact that Mister Weasley so loudly pointed out earlier that Mister Potter's mother was, in fact, muggleborn herself. And that his muggleborn bestfriend is currently lying, petrified, in the Hospital Wing. It is ludicrous to even consider him as the Heir of Slytherin,” she stressed harshly, drawing herself up to her feet and staring down her nose at her lions.
“Harry Potter is a Gryffindor. And whether or not he calls this castle home, he always will be,” she declared strongly.
The goodbyes between Mister Potter and his friends did not take long, all things considered. It was actually trying to pry Mister Weasley the Youngest from him that took the bulk of the pre-dawn hours, talking him out of leaving Hogwarts with him in a show of solidarity, of attacking the Minister in revenge, of holding Mister Malfoy the Younger hostage to force his father to reinstate the headmaster. Harry vetoed them all, reminding the red head that someone had to stay and take care of Miss Granger, protect her. He would make it, he would manage, he had been managing since he was left on that doorstep. He would just have to catch up on his muggle education, it was fine.
It broke her heart to chivvy him out of the tower, young Percy having to hold his youngest brother back and stop him from chasing after them as she took Mister Potter away.
Deciding to avoid the Great Hall, and no doubt the heckling of Slytherin House who were probably already aware of Mister Potter's expulsion thanks to that little albino toad Malfoy, she took him into the kitchens for breakfast. He had clearly seen a house elf before, though she couldn't think of where unless he caught sight of one of their own, and didn't even ask what they were as they were sat down and served a swift breakfast. They ate in silence, Harry being too despondent to do anything more than nibble on his raspberry jam toast, and Minerva with her heart quietly breaking even further couldn't muster her house's famous courage to dare break the silence.
If he drew out his breakfast far longer than she knew he usually took, she didn't comment, merely poured herself another tea and waited him out. Were it any other student she probably would have snapped at them to hurry it up, but she wasn't heartless, and this whole situation was wrong no matter which way one looked at it. So she let him take his time, she let him gather himself, and when he was ready, they left the kitchens behind and went to the small ante-chamber next to the Great Hall. The very same one he stood in last year when he first arrived, waiting to be Sorted.
His trunk was inside, waiting, along with Hedwig in her cage, hooting at the sight of him almost in askance.
Minerva closed the door behind them to give them both some privacy before kneeling in front of him, gripping his shoulders gently.
He was so young, and small. James had never been this tiny, neither had Lily, not even in their First Years. Lily had actually been the taller of the two until they reached Fourth Year and the Gryffindor boys all seemed to obtain their growth spurts at the same time, returning to school after summer with an extra six inches of height to her two. Of all the students she had seen pass through this room, Severus was the closest to being this small in his first year, but even then he was a little taller, more filled out. Minerva had worried when young Harry stepped through those doors. She knew neglect when she saw it, and it was stamped on every inch of the poor child.
“We will be taking something called a Portkey back to Privet Drive,” she explained softly. “It will be a bit of a bumpy ride, just to warn you."
Harry decided not to answer, and Minerva decided not to push him.
