When the time comes to live up to his reputation as a godforsaken menace, Harry wisely decides against taking Snape or Dumbledore. The first because Snape. The second because for all that Dumbledore would probably be all for it, Harry is rather keen on staying slightly sane and, well, Dumbledore is quite obviously not.
So, for the sake of everyone – people has been a bit prickly regarding his mental state the last few years and Hermione is very much among that group, which, by consequence, makes everyone else fret enormously for various reasons – he decides to go with Minerva. Let it be noted, however, that Minerva was not wholeheartedly against the venture – “At least I can make sure that you don’t blow up all of England along with yourself when the inevitable strikes” – however much she griped about it on her mandatory weekly date with the other headmasters in the tower of scholarly doom.
Really, Harry thinks it worked out just fine. A bit of breaking and entering, some slight vandalism and a touch of creepy laughter isn’t all that high on the list of bad things that he has done that should not be repeated by any student or other person on any occasion ever. Still, he decides against staying in Britain for the time being. Partly because he’s been itching to get away for a while now, but also because it is kinda hard to be inconspicuous while carrying a portrait that keeps berating you and telling passer byes to hit you over the head with their canes or, if they do not possess a cane, their purse.
No, running away with his tail between his legs really is the best thing to do considering. Perhaps taking the escaping so far as to find an uninhabited completely bare island in the middle of a sea is a bit of an overreaction. But then again, Hermione. Maybe he didn’t get away quite far enough.
“Well,” Harry begins, “this should work out rather fine. Don’t you think so, too, Minerva?” He’s standing on a rock roughly the same size as the living room back at the Dursleys. For in island, it’s not much to brag about. It is nicely flat, though, making it easy to stand while holding a portrait in both hands.
“It’s a rock,” Minerva says. Not sounding very impressed at all.
Nonbeliever. Whatever, Harry will prove her wrong. At some point. Probably.
“First, I think, I should make you a stand or something. A bit of a hassle to carry you around like this. Plus, talking to someone and not being able to see their face is weird, especially so when the voice tends to come from the same area as where your crotch is.”
Minerva makes a disgusted noise. “Did not need to hear that. But yes, somewhere to sit comfortably and watch you make a fool out of yourself would be appreciated.”
Harry pouts but puts her down. He considers the rock, trying to see where the stand should be placed before deciding he doesn’t much care. He waves his arms dramatically and the ground beneath his feet starts shaking, rising up in bug chunks of ragged rocks until they’re taller than five Harrys on top of each other and completely hiding the sun.
Harry scratches the back of his neck. “Oops?”
He doesn’t quite remember just why he decided for stealing a portrait of a headmaster of Hogwarts in the first place. He thinks Luna was involved but is other than that pretty much clueless. He was rather drunk.
It was a grand idea, though, so no regrets. Everything worked out just – slightly – fine in the end anyhow.
Minerva doesn’t really agree.
She’s really rather contrary.
Somehow making an island that previously was nothing more than a moderately big rock in the middle of the bloody ocean turn into an actual somewhat inhabited – one wizard and a portrait is one wizard and a portrait more than before – island didn’t go over unnoticed. That, Harry gets to experience firsthand when said island gets practically overrun by people. Muggle people. There are ships everywhere.
It isn’t even past ten in the morning.
“Early risers, eh?” Harry peers out of his smallest window, trying not to be seen by the horde that moves around with suspicion. They’re trying to be sneaky. It’s adorable.
Except the dude with the camo clothes. That’s just silly.
Minerva snorts. “I’d say it’s the other way around, but sure. Early risers the lot of them.”
Harry turns his eyes away for just a moment to pout in hurt at Minerva and something blows up with a bang. “Oh dear.” Apparently someone found the blast-ended skrewts. “This is rather bad, isn’t it?”
“I’d say so.” Another bang accompanied by a shrill shout. “I’d say so very much.”
Harry squints his eyes in thought. “Perhaps I ought to do something about it.”
“Perhaps,” Minerva says. “Or you could do nothing and watch the muggles wreck the island, killing themselves when they touch the things that you leave around haphazardly. Like, say, the buggerbangs.” Harry winces. Those tends to hurt if they get you. “Or the dynamitecrackers.” Those too. “And if they’re very luck they might even stumble on a Hershey’s kiss and try to eat it. Wouldn’t that just be lovely.”
No, Harry thinks. It most definitely wouldn’t.
“Well, I always did mean to make it unplottable.” He reaches into his back pocket, thinking of Mad Eyes for one fond second, and takes out his wand.
“You do know that would hardly take them away from here? Making them unable to find the island again doesn’t exactly take away the problem they present right this very minute. No, what you need is the Muggle Aversion Charm.” Something else blows up and Minerva winces. “A strong one.”
“That too,” Harry says. “But I’d rather do the Unplottable thingie first. Been itching to try that one, I have.”
Minerva sighs. “Well, then. You’d better start before the unlucky sods kill themselves. Or worse, destroy the outhouses. I worked very hard on those and I shan’t go through that experience again. Once was quite enough, thank you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Harry waves at Minerva absentmindedly. “I get you.”
“You most certainly do not. That is the point, young man. You do not get me. Which is why it took forever to keep those bloody outhouses standing like proper buildings and not something the Weasleys would keep in their backyard for entertainment.”
“Meh,” Harry says and doesn’t have to imagine the forceful sigh that comes from Minerva.
He takes a deep breath in preparation, widening his stance. “Oh dear,” Minerva says. “Please tell me-“
“Unplottable Charm!” Harry shouts, making every muggle look at where he stands hidden. Then, Magic happens. Although not quite how he expected it to. The muggle stays, for one, and even though he knew that would be the case it is slightly disappointing not to have them, like, fly away in pink smoke or whatever. Plus the island doesn’t feel even slightly hidden. No, instead Harry rather feels like everyone everywhere knows just exactly where he is. Which, suffice to say – he did kinda steal Minerva, after all, even if she was fine with it at the time – is a pretty bad thing.
Minerva sighs. “I don’t know what I expected. Truly, Harry, you never fail to surprise me, even though I should not expect anything different from you. I’m ashamed of my surprise.” Harry looks at her, questioning. “Of course you didn’t research the spell. When do you ever? Didn’t even use the right incantation. ‘Unplottable Charm’, really. Snape would die again all over should he learn.”
“You mean it’s not ‘Unplottable Charm’?” Huh. You learn something new every day.
“No, you silly boy! Of course the incantation isn’t ‘Unplottable Charm’! Really, the things I go through on a daily basis. Sainthood, a fucking Order of Merlin, I deserve them all.”
In the end he had to cast a stunner on the whole Island. It was that much of a pandemonium.
“Yikes,” Harry says and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “Wild bunch, don’t you think?”
Minerva doesn’t deign him with a response.
“A bit too crowded for my taste, though.” Harry tries to move one long haired man away with his foot but isn’t quite succeeding. He seems to be stuck and so Harry reluctantly leaves him there, in the way, not wanting to touch him more than necessary. The guy doesn’t look to have seen a proper bath in ages.
“I honestly have no clue just how you managed it.” Harry thinks Minerva looks just a bit like she’s trying to give birth to the biggest shit in all of history. Wisely, he does not share his thoughts with the world. “I mean, failing at a spell, all right, everyone can do that. You more than most. But actually having it result in something like this? Just, no. Fuck you, Harry.”
“Love you too, dear.”
“I hate you. You make absolutely no sense and I hate you and your father and bloody every Potter that’s ever been. Never able to follow a rule if your life depended on it. Bloody Potters.” Minerva pinches the bridge of her nose and breathes noisily.
“Eh, that’s fair,” Harry says. Because it is.
Minerva sighs. “I’ll go and confer with the Dastardly Duo of Stupid Plans who Never Ever Should Have Been Teaching in the First Place, maybe they can shed some light on your disturbing ability to bend spells. Honestly, I should tell Hermione on you.”
Harry freezes in place. “Please, um, don’t.”
Minerva waves him away and levels him a glare fit her animagus form. “I shall do whatever I please, young man.” Harry shoulders sag in defeat. “Although in this case, I suppose I can oblige. Much more fun to watch her find out by herself when she tries to visit, don’t you think?”
And with those parting words Minerva turns on her heels and disappears behind the deep red curtains in her painting, leaving Harry slightly nauseous with that thought.
“Oh dear,” Harry says. “Oh dear.”
Hermione pinches the bridge of her nose and breathes out noisily. Harry is rather good at making women react like that, he’s come to find. Especially the rule abiding – kinda – and strict – kinda – and all together much more clever than him – definitely – sorts. And Percy, too. Percy also tends to look constipated when he deals with Harry.
“So, let me see if I’ve gotten everything straight.” Hermione directs her gaze at him and Harry might possibly whimper a bit. Lucky there’s a sea and a continent between them. Two way mirrors are the best. Especially in these kinds of situations. God bless Sirius. “You tried to make your island unplottable.”
“U-huh,” Harry says. Always the polite one. Go Harry.
Hermione barrels on. “And somehow, when you actually performed the spell – and God help you Harry if I find out you didn’t even research it beforehand – you managed to not only not make it unplottable, because I know how to find you, Harry, trust me. Everyone knows. But also,” Hermione’s voice rose alarmingly, “when you tried to lay the Muggle Aversion spell on top of it, you had that one fail on you too. Had it work backwards – and who does that? Like, how even? I just don’t get you, Harry, I really don’t – so that instead of actually sending the muggles away it draws them to your island likes moths to a flame. And in its place it sends away wizards. Which means that I can’t even come over there myself and hit you over the head with a book like I very much would want to.”
Harry meeps. Pathetic as ever.
Hermione sighs, emphatically.
“At least I didn’t blow anything up?” Harry offers. “The muggles did, sure, but I didn’t.” It’s an important distinction, Harry thinks.
“Well, at least there is that,” Hermione says. “I don’t see just how, but I suppose it could have ended up worse. It’s you, after all.”
Harry is somewhat sure he isn’t supposed to hear the muttered “God I need a drink,” so he ignores that part magnanimously.