Deal with a Devil

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It was always raining this time of year in the United Kingdom, so much so that many people would hold off on any big plans simply out of habit. This was especially true for Scotland, a fact that many would consider a right pain in the arse, were it not for the fact that, being used to the weather, they found means of occupying themselves.

But for the secret wizarding society the rain was in fact a double blessing, as it not only allowed the various witches and wizards to go about their regular routines whilst their muggle neighbors stayed indoors, but it kept those nosy researchers away from the various magical sites that littered the higlands, most notably the Hogwarts grounds, as the area around the castle forest was renowned for it's landslides in fierce weather.

True the muggle-repelling charms helped, especially on those annoying hikers that just wouldn't take a bloody hint and feck off, but nothing kept nosy parkers away than Mother Nature when she was in a bad mood.

It was at this time that we turn our attention to the wizarding school itself, or more specifically, towards a single, solitary light that shone from a window near the top of one of the castle's lofty towers. Behind this window was a room, more specifically an office, and within said office, looking out into the rain with an unreadable expression in his normally twinkling blue eyes, was the current Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengammot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and quite possibly the most powerful British Wizard alive, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

If the lack of his trademark twinkle in his eyes weren't hint enough to the Headmaster's state of mind, the fact that his pet phoenix and loyal companion, Fawkes, was crooning softly from his perch at the back of the room, should have made it amply clear that Dumbledore was NOT in a good mood.

The reason for this was Fudge, and we're not talking about the addictively delicious treat either, but rather the bowler sporting minister of magic, Cornelius Fudge, who was proving most unreasonable of late.

The little twat, despite years of sucking up to Dumbledore, badgering him at all hours of the day for advice, refused to see that Tom Riddle, or as the lad preferred to be known: Lord Voldemort, had returned from his near death experience, apparently stronger than ever and eagre to pick up where he left off, namely 'purging' the wizarding world of the 'impurity' of muggles and muggle-borns. Apparently there was a running pattern for would be dictators.

Fudge was so far in denial that he'd had the audacity to have Albus' rank of Chief Warlock of the wizengammot stripped from him, apparently taking on the title for himself despite the protests of more than a few members. However, not even the Minister of Magic could outrank the clout Dumbledore had with the other members, not for lack of trying mind you, which is why the professor had been able to attend the supposed 'trial' of one Harry James Potter, otherwise known as 'The Boy Who Lived', scant seconds before Fudge could pull any tricks.

Not that you could call it a trial, in fact, had Dumbledore been as loathe to address it as anything other than a farce, he would have called the proceedings a proverbial 'Witch Hunt'. Young Harry had been hauled up on charges of illegal use of magic in front of a muggle, his own cousin no less, a crime that many a wizard would have been heavily punished for, but for an underage student, was indeed most grim.

The fact that Harry had apparently fended off a pack of Dementors had mostly been scoffed at, after all everyone KNEW the despicable creatures were in the Ministry's employ, though the fact the boy could perform a corporeal patronus, and had demonstrated as such to Alice Bones, had made several would be condemers reconsider their verdict. Fudge, of course, wanted nothing more than to have Harry expelled from Hogwarts, doubtlessly believing that by removing the boy from Dumbledore's 'care', he'd be of better use to the ministry.

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