Standing Against the Tides

Last time I looked at my driver’s license, it did not say J. K. Rowling. Yep, it’s just me, an unpaid and unknown aspiring writer. The characters of the Potterverse do not belong to me and I am making no money from this endeavor.

A/N: Spoilers through OotP. As I am still in denial, I refuse to acknowledge the events of HBP or DH at this point.

Unbeta’d as BabyGurl is busy with her own life.





Chapter 33 A New Day Dawns

Ron watched as Pig flew off into the distance, laden with his missive. The young Gryffindor knew that his twin brothers would have some good ideas of how to get back at Dumbles and perhaps even some not-so-nice gifts for the former Headmaster. Satisfied that he was doing the best thing, Ron reluctantly gathered his potions book and prepared to beg his girlfriend for her help and maybe even her notes for today’s homework assignment.


Minerva looked up from marking her Second Years’ assignments to see Miss Granger standing in front of her. Seeing the determined set of the young witch’s features, the Transfigurations professor decided she had likely found her ally in securing Albus Dumbledore’s fall from grace.

Just as the older woman opened her mouth to speak, a rich baritone voice sounded in the class room. “Ah, I see that Miss Granger has already decided to seek you out, Professor McGonagall.”

The two witches watched as the resident Potions master stepped into the classroom before waving his wand, closing the door behind him and setting privacy wards over the room. Severus had no desire for any ears, human or otherwise, to overhear this particular conversation.

An hour later, the three conspirators emerged, all suspiciously wearing smug expressions. Nodding to her two professors, Hermione rushed off to the owlery so that she could send the carefully written missive the three had crafted. The Gryffindor witch smiled once again as she recalled the shocked looks she had received from the Professors when she had slyly revealed the bit of power she still held over one Rita Skeeter. Hermione wasn’t certain, but she thought that she just might have gone up a notch in the dour Potions master’s estimation. ‘Fifty points to Gryffindor’, the young witch smugly thought to herself.

Now it was a very good thing that she was completely unaware of her formidable Potions’ Professor’s thoughts, or she would certainly have not felt quite so smug in her assurances of all things Gryffindor. Severus Snape, the uber-Slytherin himself, might have fallen hopelessly in love with the ultimate and most clueless of all Gryffindors, but he was most assuredly not going to start recklessly awarding any points other than to Slytherin House any time soon. But still, even he could not help but be mildly impressed with the young witch’s scheming.

Minerva gracefully stretched as her co-conspirators walked towards the door to her classroom. Perhaps she would finally get the opportunity to indulge in a bit o catnip-induced fantasies, she thought idly as she followed the movement of the oddly matched pair. The Deputy-Headmistress chuckled to herself as she recalled the startling bit of information that Miss Granger had shyly offered up. Well then, she thought, fifty points shall be awarded to Gryffindor House for showing such shrewdness. Satisfied when the correct amount of rubies fell into the hourglass, Minerva concentrated and a moment later, a large tabby jumped out of her chair. Nose sniffing delicately in the air, the cat set off in search of the ready supply of catnip. If any students had ventured in, searching for their Transfigurations professor, they might have been treated to the sight of a tabby cat, rolling amongst some scattered catnip, tail twitching and purring loudly.


Kingsley nodded to a bemused Remus as they took in the sight of their prisoner. While neither man was by nature cruel, they also could see no reason to hold back the actions of the enraged House-elf who had been charged with helping to watch over the former Headmaster. And it seemed that once one ticked off a House-elf, and especially this House-elf, bad things were bound to happen. In just the past week, Dobby had spelled the toilet to bite anything that went near it, and hexed the food so that Dumbledore turned a violent shade of green for an entire day and continuously burped neon pink bubbles that when burst, smelled like Hagrid’s used socks. Disgusting, really. Apparently, the enterprising House-elf had rounded up a couple of doxies a few days ago, which delighted in tormenting the old wizard’s bedding. Albus had woken up the next morning with numerous red bite marks from the vicious creatures. Remus idly wondered if either he or Kingsley had remembered to disinfect the bedding. An angry shriek from inside the prisoner’s cell answered that question. Perhaps tomorrow, then. Oh, and it might be pertinent to ask Severus to brew an antidote to the doxies’ venom as the bite marks would not heal or quit hurting without the antidote. Perhaps he would remember to ask Severus. Next week. Yesterday morning Albus Dumbledore had awoken to find that his only clothing option was a soiled pillowcase and a knitted cap. Both the Auror and the werewolf shuddered at the thought of seeing the old man dressed in such garb.

And now this. The werewolf couldn’t hold back any longer. Deep chuckles erupted from his throat until they burst from his mouth. Giving into the humor of it all, Remus leaned against the wall and laughed until his sides hurt and tears threatened to fall from his eyes. After a few minutes of watching his co-captor in silence, the dark-skinned Auror allowed his own laughter to mingle with that of the tawny-haired man’s. Deep, rich laughter flowed like molten chocolate in the confines of the basement hallway. After several long minutes of therapeutic laughter, the men straightened and attempted to restore order to their emotions. Once they each felt sure that they wouldn’t immediately fall back into laughter, they glanced back into the cell. Desperately holding back his laughter, Remus decided to owl Harry for a pair of mismatched socks as a reward for the industrious House-elf. Yes, Dobby had been busy. But just how he had managed to turn the entire room, and Albus Dumbledore, completely upside down was beyond his imagining. And from the looks of it, Dumbledore was not enjoying the experience, not one bit.

Shaking his head at the rather comical sight of the malicious old man trying fruitlessly to eat his summer pudding while upside down, the pair left the vengeful House-elf to his fun and returned to discussing the lessons they had planned for the newest Headmaster of Hogwarts.


Fred, or was it George, looked up as a familiar small, hyperactive owl flew in the open door of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. “Oi, it’s Pig,” George commented to his twin, “wonder what ickle Ronniekins wants?”

Fred grabbed the missive and opened it before his twin even got the chance to object. “Ooh, George. Ron wants us to send him several ‘Ton-Tongue Toffees’ and half a case of ‘U-No-Poo’. I wonder why our ickle Ronnie suddenly wants to play pranks on his fellow class mates? Oh well, it’s an order and look! He even included money! Zebediah! You have an order to process, stat!”

Seeing George’s incredulous look, Fred explained, “Saw it on the Telly when Dad was watching a Muggle healer show.”

Shrugging, George watched as their employee rushed about, filling the latest order. “Oh well, that explains everything then,” he commented in the way that only a twin could understand.


The Quick-Quotes Quill was busily scratching out the details of the latest scandal to rock the Wizarding World when an unfamiliar owl landed in a heap, knocking over the quill and destroying the article it was writing. Fuming at the uncalled-for interference, Rita Skeeter impatiently grabbed the note from the offending bird. Once she had a chance to realize who had sent her the message, she visibly paled for a moment. But then, the habits and attitude that had served her well in her illustrious career kicked in and Rita smiled. As she read the letter her smile only grew larger. Oh, this was good. This was ‘The Reporter of the Year’ good, this was ‘Golden Quill’ good. Quickly forgetting her earlier annoyance at the disruption of her current story of the year, Rita picked up another quill to answer the author of this latest owl.


Draco Malfoy was feeling severely vexed. And Malfoys certainly didn’t handle that emotion well. Through several of his contacts, he had learned that the Weasel had owled a letter and that the Mudblood had left the office of the Transfigurations professor with the Head of Slytherin, if you could imagine that! She too, had later gone to the owlery and had sent a letter. Now Draco had been taught from an early age that there was no such thing as coincidence, and he wasn’t about to disappoint his father now by discounting that theory. And just how did his Head of House figure into all of this?