Barty blew out a long breath through clenched teeth. He finally managed it.
After a grueling month of nightly attempts, the memory box yielded to his demands. It was stubborn, to be sure, but he knew no small part of his trouble with the damnable thing had been due to his faulty wand. The freak's wand had performed for him for the almost two years he had held it and though it responded to him, it did so reluctantly, costing him time and more patience than he had thought he possessed.
He lifted the shackles with one hand, finding them far lighter than he had anticipated.
No matter. On the slight chance they were needed, they would do their job well, regardless of their limited strength.
He tugged open the bottom drawer of his desk with a foot and dropped them inside, their clattering chains ringing through his empty office. Fortunately, with the door shut, he didn't have to worry about anybody hearing what he was up to. After extensive testing, he had found the privacy charms impenetrable, no matter the methods he tried. Short of destroying the room and its wards, nobody could get to him.
Just one not-so-insignificant benefit of the careful planning he'd done to prepare for his infiltration.
He let out another long breath, setting the wand on top of one of the many piles of papers on his desk. It shouldn't be too much longer before he could finally be done with his extended mission. They didn't have as many people in place as he wanted, especially with the ICW muddling everything he needed to do. Even so, with the chaos of integration finally fading into a facsimile of routine, they hadn't come far enough.
Not yet, anyway.
When it was time for his agents to make their move, the resulting mess would allow the Dark Lord free reign for far longer than they'd have had without Dumbledore's insistence of enlisting international assistance. How fitting that the bumbling old man would play straight into their hands not once but twice.
A series of knocks sounded at his door, though not in the pattern of that week's code. He grabbed his wand and sealed the bottom drawer shut with a careful, hard to identify spell, and fell back into his role.
XxX
Harry collapsed onto the stone floor of the Room of Requirement, sucking in air through his mouth in a desperate attempt to fill his burning lungs.
Sweat dripped from his now much shorter hair, speckling his glasses with small droplets. He hadn't liked the short haircut at first, especially considering Moody's less than deft attempts to make it look like anything more than half his hair had been burned away by more dragon's fire. Once Hermione had convinced him to seek help, however, he found a sympathetic ear on Professor McGonagall, who made the mess atop his head even and presentable.
Once Fleur had expressed her pleasure at the new look, he finally relented, deciding that if she liked it, it couldn't be all bad.
Despite the almost two weeks he'd had the haircut, it was still a surprise when he ran his hand across the top of his head, the dampness keeping the hair at the front of his head standing upright to match the back. He wiped his hand on his shirt and rose, stumbling slightly as fire coursed through the muscles in his legs.
"I was going to give you another few minutes," Moody said, pushing off the wall with his shoulder. "But if you're ready now, we'll get back to it."
"Sir?" Harry asked, his breathing still more labored than he'd have liked. "Why aren't we practicing my transfiguration first, then testing it out with spells coming at me? I can barely focus with everything exploding around me."
"That's the idea, isn't it? You've got the benefit of having been in a battle before. Was anything about that calm or peaceful?"
"No, Sir," Harry said, before shifting his gaze away from Moody's swiveling eye. "I don't really know if that's a benefit though. It was painful and insane."
He still didn't enjoy how often his old Professor brought up that evening in the graveyard and had more than one occasion had a night full of terrors after extensively examining his memories with Moody. He hadn't even been able to rely on his notepaper in such instances, as Fleur often fell asleep early due to her increased workload at the DMLE.
"That's exactly what it was like. It's what it's always like. The sooner you understand that, the sooner you know that what I'm doing here is like putting a burning log next to Fiendfyre and calling it the same.
"Remember what it was to live through a battle, then when you realize this is just one old man shooting spells at you, relax enough to focus on turning one of these stones into a wall."
"Yes, Sir."
Moody grinned before raising his wand, the scar that pulled the skin between the edge of his mouth and the corner of his normal eye pulling taut with the movement. It had been odd, needing to relearn facial cues to be able to determine if Moody was growing angry with him, but he'd found through their few lessons that he seemed to be enjoying himself, if anything.
When Moody's wooden leg thudded against the ground, Harry scrambled into motion, ducking below the crimson stunner that soared overhead. A slice of green light made him pivot, the spell gouging a line into the stone floor. His heart thundered at the sight, though it hadn't been the first potentially painful spell that had been sent flying his direction that evening. A hazy blue spell splashed near his feet, making him leap to avoid it. While his feet pounded the stones in tempo with his frantic heartbeat, his mind tried to engage, to put into practice the words he'd only just heard.
Slow, easy to avoid spells weren't what had electrified the air that night and sent Death Eaters into a scrambling frenzy. Curses and dust and mayhem had filled the air while the very Earth heeded the call to battle. Lingering tremors had brushed molten pain across his scorched nerves and the terror of it all had stolen his breath and wits, leaving him with only the frantic, solitary thought to try to do something to protect his friend.
Another stunner flashed in front of him with another following to try and bracket him in place. He knew the third was coming, a trick that had caught him off guard more than once but one that he'd learned to avoid.
Instead of ducking the final spell, he rolled forward, grunting when his tired legs deposited him roughly on his side, though still with enough momentum for him to roll back onto his feet. A pale purple spell preceded another cutting spell, both far enough in front of him to allow for a change in direction.
He forced the screaming of his muscles away from his mind and focused on his wand, slick with sweat. His instinct was to try and feel the spell, though a quick, after-class discussion with Professor McGonagall had determined that Transfiguration was more will-based than feeling based. As such, she had said, she expected full marks from then on from the student who could best an Imperious and the Headmaster, all before his OWLs.
So rather than try to feel like a wall, as he had tried during their very first lesson, he turned his attention instead to commanding the stone beneath his feet to change. Silently, at first, then aloud, chanting the word, 'change,' with each slap of his trainers. He gripped his wand tighter, trying to envision whatever strange wellspring of will he possessed flooding to the surface and out the tip of his wand.
His hand pulsed with irritable pain at his white-knuckled grip. He gritted his teeth as he pivoted, narrowly avoiding a yellow spell that crackled as it flew by his head. Sweat dripped from his nose and chin and he continued to run, heedless of the burning muscles that threatened to spill him to the ground.
His right ankle finally gave out on another quick spin, sending him directly into the path of a stunner. The red light consumed his vision for what felt like minutes before blackness finally took him.
XxX
"So he just…casts spells at you?" Ron asked, frowning.
Harry shrugged, privately reveling in the disapproving near-growl that sounded from the empty air next to him. Ever since his very first lesson with Moody, Fleur had expressed her extreme displeasure at his methods. It had taken some convincing but she had eventually relented, especially when he reminded her of Moody's terrible efficiency in the graveyard.
The others, however, took it in stride. Even Luna, who only really knew of Harry's adventures via rumors overheard at mealtimes, didn't seem to mind Moody's methods.
That didn't mean he was in any way comfortable replicating the experience for his friends. Though the routine was intense, he knew Moody sent the more dangerous spells off to the side where he could see them, but intentionally kept him out of any real danger.
There was no way he trusted himself to be able to do the same.
What if he hurt one of them? Even by accident? What if a stunner caught them on the wrong foot and he wasn't quick enough with a cushioning charm?
In the end, he had them practice the Patronus charm while he pondered his sudden ineptitude as a teacher. He certainly hadn't been one of any note before, but at least he'd been able to muddle his way through.
The room came alive with silver mist as they began, each one of them able to produce the incorporeal Patronus with regularity. Only Fleur appeared close to a corporeal version, as her mist swirled and changed, the vague impression of form in the luminescent vapor. She had confided a not-insignificant amount of practice in her limited free time, a fact which made Harry grin, even while working through his troubled thoughts. It seemed her competitive tendencies didn't subside just because they were in a relationship.
Luna was the first to take a break, sticking her wand behind her ear and wandering over to where Harry stood, a thoughtful look in place of her usual expression.
"Do you have any tips, Harry?" she asked, her wide eyes trailing down to where he spun his wand in his fingers. He stilled the nervous motion, suddenly aware that he had been doing it at all. "The spell doesn't feel any different."
"When I did it…I had to try a bunch of different memories. Some I could tell definitely wouldn't work, but some felt like they were really close."
She stared at his hands for a moment longer, before looking up to meet his gaze. Her piercing eyes bored into his until he couldn't stand it anymore and pretended to look up to check on everyone's progress.
Both Ron and Hermione were managing the mist every couple of casts and Fleur's floating wand continued to produce her amorphous near-corporeal Patronus.
"What was your memory?" Luna asked, making him jump in guilty surprise.
How was he supposed to tell her that his happy memory was of his first real Christmas surrounded by some of the only people who had ever cared about him? But…what if he didn't, and she needed to use the spell, but couldn't, because of him?
Luna blinked, then looked over her shoulder towards Fleur's wand.
"I suppose it could be a private memory," she said, just as normally as if she'd been telling him about a homework assignment.
Harry felt his face burn as he shrugged. "It is private, but uh…not like that."
She nodded, then turned around so her back was to him.
"I understand," she said, her voice unusually quiet. "It was an insensitive question. I'm sorry."
The sudden shift in her mood made him almost reconsider, but he wasn't quite sure that spilling even the vague details of why that Christmas scene had meant so much to him would help her at all.
She spun back to face him, a careful smile on her face.
"You two are well suited, I think. Though someone like me probably isn't the best judge of such things."
"I'm not so sure about that," he muttered, watching Fleur's wand dance through the air. "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy we're together but I don't think I could ever really match her."
Luna digested his words, a small frown tugging at her lips.
"I think," she said after a few moments of thought, "that being well-suited and matching are not the same thing."
He nodded, though he kept to himself that they hadn't actually been all that dissimilar. She had been one of the few to understand the isolation he experienced, even if it had been for vastly different reasons.
"Though…I think you're all excellent matches for each other." She turned her head to look as Hermione let out a laughing admonition, Ron's incorporeal Patronus dusting her hair. "You've managed to find so many people who care about you. And they like you for you, not for someone you pretend to be."
The implication was clear, even to him, though he still didn't know what to say to help his newest friend. He tried to think of what Fleur would say if he'd said something similar. It certainly wasn't as though he couldn't understand her point of view.
If only she knew he had been pretending for most of their friendship. Yet somehow they still cared about him, even after all the lies.
"You don't need to pretend," he found himself saying. "They're not going to suddenly dislike you because you've started being yourself."
He nearly nodded to himself. That really did sound like something Fleur would say.
Luna, however, frowned the first proper frown he had seen cross her features.
"Didn't you say that you changed to be better for them?"
For a silent moment, he considered caving and calling Fleur over for help, but he supposed if Luna had wanted to talk to her, she would have.
"I did, yeah. But I guess I don't have to…if that makes sense. They don't expect me to do it, I just want to."
He swallowed back a nervous flutter in his stomach, and opted for a direct approach, as Fleur would have done. Direct and clear.
"You don't have to change the way you act. We all think you're fine the way you are."
Rather than answer, she simply stared at him, barely blinking her wide blue eyes. The silence stretched on until he nearly squirmed from awkward anticipation.
When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet and clear, her usual thoughtful tone absent.
"Nobody has ever said that to me before, other than my dad."
A smile flitted across her face.
"And he has to say that."
He tried not to let his sigh of relief be too obvious. Finally. He'd been clear enough to be understood. Maybe there was hope for him yet.
XxX
Well, I did it.
You…entered into another tournament? Slew another Dark Lord?
I'd have preferred the Dark Lord. Almost. I sent Fudge the letter. Sirius said he talked to Mrs. Malfoy about it and they think it's a good idea. I guess he really is good about returning favors, and who knows, maybe I can use it to get Sirius reinstated faster. The end of the year is coming up soon.
I suspect it will be boring, if anything. I know you do not like the attention, but it will only be for a short while. Besides, I will be there with you.
The only thing that'll make it bearable.
I feel the same way. Perhaps now he will bother Madam Bones a little less often. I am certain that I have seen him leave meetings with her and glance over his shoulder to look at me. I wonder if he has been pressuring her to try to get me to talk to you.
That'd be weird.
Yes, it would. Fortunately, we do not have to worry about it any longer. Let me know what day he chooses, though I suspect it will be a Sunday. The Ministry is at its least busy then.
I will. As much as I don't want to, I need to study for the OWLs. Hermione looks like she's about to murder me if I don't quit writing to you instead of reading this Potions textbook.
Feel free to ask if any of you have any questions. I was quite good at potions, charms, and transfiguration. Divination and Arithmancy were my weak points though, so I am not sure I would be much help in those classes.
I will. Ron asked if you'd mind if he borrowed the paper so you could help him on test day.
I somehow doubt Madam Bones will appreciate me using my limited time at work to help someone cheat on a test. Besides, if I were going to help anyone cheat it would be you.
Hermione says she'll burn the paper if we try. Can it be burned?
It is more resistant to damage than most parchment by design. A candle would not do too much, but you probably should avoid tossing it into a fire as a test.
Good to know. Maybe I can sneak it in without her noticing.
Go study before it gets too late. I will talk to you tomorrow.
I will. Goodnight, Fleur.
Goodnight, Harry.
Fleur set down her quill and lifted her brush, blinking away the exhaustion that threatened to stop her mid-task. It had grown more difficult to stay awake with the turn of the weather. Frozen nights had receded in favor of longer days and the occasional comfortable night. Most evenings she still found she wanted a fire, or to putter around her apartment wrapped in her charmed blanket. Either way, she found it far easier to be warm and comfortable which led to unintentional early nights and late mornings.
She drew the brush through her hair, the rhythmic sound of the bristles soothing her mind and body. No matter how hard her thoughts tried to spin back to Harry's displeasure at being pulled into politics, they drifted away as the motion of her arm and the silky feeling of newly brushed hair against her free hand anchored her to her peaceful routine.
She did, however, shift in the uncomfortable wooden chair that sat in front of her ovular mirror. She crossed her ankles beneath her and moved so she was sitting on the edge. She hadn't spent much of the money she had made working at the Ministry. There hadn't really been time. Beyond the ornate brush that had set her back more than a few galleons, her apartment still held the bare few pieces of furniture she had started with.
Maybe that's why it still felt so…impersonal.
And maybe once the school year was over…she could invite Harry over for some cooking lessons. Her few attempts to make use of the kitchen had yielded sub-par results and none of the swelling, intoxicating warmth that had drawn her into the process like on Christmas Eve. Her dinners had been edible, though they were not even in the same realm as what Harry had prepared for them.
Her brushing strokes slowed as her thoughts returned again to her boyfriend, as they did so often of late. In the few times she had gone to visit Hogwarts for their study groups since their difficult conversation, he had been attentive and rather more…forward than he had been previously. Her lips curled into a smile at the memory of his eager grin before he pulled her to him only moments after the door to the room had closed. She had let out a noise that even now made her cheeks burn and her heart had leaped up into her throat to do somersaults while she tried to melt into him.
She resumed brushing her hair, letting the last strands of her right side fall and beginning on the left.
While his newfound enthusiasm had been pleasant, she had been unable to ignore how…regimented it was. Every gentle caress of her cheek and arm wrapping her waist were welcome, but they were ground that had been trodden before. Paths she had created for them to walk together.
She let her hand fall, the hard embossed back of her brush knocking against her knee, though she barely noticed.
How on earth was she supposed to tell him she wanted more? That she hungered for it?
And why…why couldn't she banish the slight swell of irritation that he held back?
It wasn't fair. No matter how many times she turned it over in her head, it wasn't fair to him in any way. How could she claim to be worried about going too fast, then be upset when he goes too slow?
She blew out a long breath and set her brush back on the small table that sat below the mirror. No sense in hurting herself in her nightly routine just because her runaway thoughts irritated her.
One such thought skittered through her mind; one that rankled, even while she tried to ignore it.
That thought also wasn't fair.
She knew him better than that.
Knew he saw her for her and not some fragile prize to be carefully tended.
Yet he still couldn't believe they were together. Even after months of growing even closer, of deepening a friendship that, if she were honest, had been blossoming in her heart far sooner than Christmas.
He said he believed it but she could see it in his eyes, and no matter how she'd tried to ignore it, she could feel it in his sense. It lived so close to that bubbling undercurrent that she didn't understand, volatile and almost hidden, some evenings completely absent, but never gone for long.
How was it he viewed her, if he found himself so lacking?
Was Fleur, his friend, so unattainable?
Or was it Fleur, the Veela?
She ground her teeth. Such thoughts were unacceptable.
There was no room for her unfounded fears in her consideration of Harry. If such a thing had even been a possibility, she would never have fallen for him so surely.
While her mind toiled away with its worrisome scenarios, she had to rely on her heart to carry her through. A crazed spiderweb of maybes and theories twisted through her thoughts at her most anxious moments, forcing her to believe her feelings, rather than such thoughts. To believe the version of her that felt so safe as to share her name and her past with him.
Two things that had never crossed his lips again, for the reverence he held for both.
As her mind finally settled, it landed on the same thing it always did. On the course that she wished she knew, by now, to tread first.
Clear and direct.
She busied herself by picking up the brush and continuing her careful motions while her face burned.
How to be clear and direct was another matter entirely.
And how direct should she be?
She paused her hand, halfway down her hair's considerable length.
What would she even say?
"Tu as le droit de me caresser, tu sais ."
The face in the mirror stared back with a blush that made her glow and she was forced to avert her eyes down to her knees.
No…no that was not the right direction.
Her heart slowed as her embarrassment faded, making space for the other sobering thought that plagued her frequent ruminations.
Would he tell her if he wasn't ready?
She wasn't sure she could handle the heartbreak that would accompany the knowledge that she had pushed him physically when it still caused him such distress.
There was yet another conversation to be had, though how she would manage it, she didn't know. But…maybe it could happen while treading those familiar, well-worn paths of theirs.
Satisfied, she returned her attention to the mirror, trying her best to ignore the color lingering in her cheeks. There would be plenty of time for her to figure it out before summer when they would have far more time together.
Besides, it wasn't as though their upcoming 'date' to the Ministry tour would put anybody in the mood for intimate conversation or…anything else.
XxX
Harry stared down at the letter in his hands, a frown resting heavy on his lips. He had known it was coming, so why was it such a…disappointment? Maybe he had hoped with all the craziness he kept hearing about, his little invitation would be forgotten.
But no, in crisp, careful strokes, the Minister had thanked Harry profusely for his time and had set the date all in just a few lines.
He passed the letter over to Hermione, who had been eyeing him since the Ministry owl had landed in front of him, leg outstretched.
While he had hoped she might share some of his dread for the at-best boring tour, he was not surprised to see her eyes light up. She set the letter down and turned to her bag, rifling through until she pulled out a piece of parchment that had been filled with her small, tidy script.
"Do you think there will be time for questions?" she asked, peering Intently at her notes. "I've tried to narrow it down to the departments we're likely to visit…"
Ron's eyebrows shot up when she flipped the parchment over to expose yet more small writing on the other side.
"It's pretty boring, Hermione," he said. "All the interesting stuff is down in the basement, and you're not likely to be touring the Department of Mysteries."
"Oh, that'd be something, wouldn't it?" she breathed, barely paying attention to most of Ron's comment. "How do you think you become one, anyway? I doubt you can just walk in and apply."
Without waiting for any sort of answer, she pulled out a quill and added another question to her already expansive list.
"Are you going to come, Ron?" she asked. "Now that your Occlumency is getting better, I would expect that you could join us, even with Fleur there."
Ron shook his head and let out a laugh. "Maybe I could, but I think I'd rather stick around Hogwarts and watch a Quidditch match instead of studying or practicing the Patronus or Occlumency. Ginny's been hounding me to come to see her play, and the match that weekend is against Slytherin. With Malfoy back in place on the team, I want to see her beat him." His grin grew much wider. "And if he beats her to the snitch, it's my job to make sure she never lives it down."
"Your time would be better spent studying," Hermione said, placing her sheet back in her bag. "The tests are next month. But we have been working pretty hard and I can't exactly take time off to go look at prospects and take a tour then blame you for also taking time off."
Before Ron could comment, Hermione rose from their table and said a quick goodbye, citing an interest in picking out a governmental history book from the library with a reminder to Harry to let Sirius and Fleur know the time of their excursion.
Harry nodded, pocketing the Minister's letter. Maybe after letting everybody know, he could get around to writing back to Gabrielle. Though his year hadn't been filled with its usual amount of deadly adventure, he had still felt as though the time were running away from him while all he could do was scramble to keep up. All the same, he didn't want her to feel like he'd forgotten about her. Especially with her birthday growing so much closer. He'd need to carefully prompt for gift ideas.
With that thought in mind, he too excused himself from breakfast and made for Gryffindor tower and his two-way mirror and notepaper. A one-time trip to the Ministry didn't seem so bad when a summer full of birthdays and time with his girlfriend followed so close behind.
Besides…maybe he'd be able to steal a kiss or two on their strange little 'date'.
XxX
The fire around him roared, its green light illuminating hearth after hearth as he spun through the network to his destination.
His visit to the Ministry came quickly in the manner of all things that one dreads. Each day passed coyly, dragging along an extra two for good measure in the blink of an eye until he was left stepping into the floo at Sirius's house, and out of one of many at the Ministry of Magic.
Sirius, who had gone before him, stood nearby smiling thinly at a squat woman in bright pink who waited for them, her hands clasped together in front of her. Hermione followed close behind Harry, a broad grin across her face the moment she stepped through the emerald flames.
Harry glanced around as he approached Sirius and the woman, his heart sinking slightly when he didn't catch sight of Fleur. She had said that she had found a little extra work to do while she waited for them to arrive, but he had expected to find her waiting for him. His heart wasn't allowed to sink too far, however, as the thudding of footsteps across the glass floor that overlooked the Wizengamot chambers drew their attention.
She strode towards them, hair streaming behind in a long tail, her face set in a mask of impersonal politeness, though as she drew near, he could see the tightness at the corner of her eyes as she regarded the woman.
"Madam Undersecretary," Fleur said, her voice brisk but professional.
The woman nodded her greeting, though didn't speak, instead turning back to face Sirius while Fleur made her way around to where Harry and Hermione stood.
"Is this everyone?" the woman asked, her voice shrill, despite her placid features.
Sirius turned to Harry in question, who nodded. His jealousy at Ron's enviable position in the stands at a Quidditch game was tempered by Fleur's presence, though he'd have much preferred their cozy cottage scene in the Room of Requirement.
Though, the waves of excitement that radiated off Hermione made him smile as they began a slow trek across the atrium, their guide pointing up to the massive golden statue that stood guard over the glass floor.
Harry ignored the droning explanation about some ideal of looking down upon the government doing their work and turned instead to catch Fleur's eye.
"It doesn't look nearly as busy as you were making it sound," he said, glancing around the mostly empty space for emphasis. "I thought it was supposed to be chaotic."
"It is," she whispered back, a small frown creasing her lips. "But the chaos is more…administrative, than literal. Not to mention that Madam Bones is gone, as she is every weekend, with Papa and Dumbledore to visit member Ministries in the ICW. So there is no shortage of work to be done in our department."
"And as her assistant, most of that work falls on you?" he asked with a small grin, earning him one in return.
"Yes and no. Most of our department stays late these days. Tonks has even offered to help me a number of times."
Harry glanced down as they walked across the glass floor, the multi-story drop below his feet giving him sudden vertigo. How it was he could be on a broom even higher in the sky and be fine, but when his feet were on thick, firm glass and a hole beneath him his stomach churned, he'd never know. He hurried forward to catch up to Hermione and Sirius, the former of which had her head spinning in all directions to take in the mass of windows that stretched up dozens of stories.
"That's nice of her," he said, causing Fleur to shrug.
"It is, but she is Moody's through and through. Far more effective in the field than in administration."
Their guide led them through an abandoned cluster of tables and chairs that radiated a sense of dingy-work-lunch-space. The tables and chairs were spotless, as he would hope in a building full of people who can clean with a wand and a simple word, but all the same, there was a gloom to the space that lurked far deeper than the pristine white tabletops.
"Fieldwork is what you want to do, right?" he asked as they turned down a short hall marked 'elevators'.
With a quick, breathy clearing of her throat, their guide drew attention to herself as they stopped in front of a row of gold-plated doors. She blinked lethargically, boredom overpowering any annoyance Harry might have expected to see from someone asked to give a tour to a small gaggle of strangers.
"I have been asked to bring you to see the Minister first. He extends his apologies for not being able to meet you in person, but with the current state of affairs here in the Ministry, he is an exceedingly busy man."
Sirius's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Fudge has been putting his nose to the grindstone, eh?"
"The Minister has nothing but the people's interests at heart," the woman said, delivering her canned response with the same disinterested tone as the tour. "The needless intervention of the ICW has made his job significantly more complicated."
"I'm sure we'll appreciate their support when the time comes," Sirius said, appearing oddly relieved. "Even if it is a bit more complicated right now."
"What sort of processes does the ICW integrate into?" Hermione asked once one of the doors slid open and they stepped aside to allow a tall, broad-shouldered woman with an armful of old newspapers and shoes to exit the elevator.
"The Minister will answer any questions you may have later on." The squat woman said, pressing a stubby finger into a button sitting at the top of the panel. "I was asked to give you a simple overview and bring you to him."
Hermione quieted, though Harry could see she hadn't been deterred in the slightest. Almost five full years of hearing exasperated teachers ask her to hold her questions must have immunized her from any disappointment at the small rebuke.
They rode the elevator in silence, floors flashing through the diamond-shaped holes in the golden doors. After what seemed an impossible amount of time and floors, the uncomfortable length stretched even further for the awkward silence in the small space, the elevator slowed to a stop, revealing a floor that consisted of a singular hallway terminating in a set of double doors at the opposite end.
Their guide pulled open the door with a tug, the clatter of it ringing through the wide, bare hallway. A red carpet muffled their footsteps, its length emblazoned with the Ministry's logo down the center. The light wooden doors at the end of the hall sat closed, a single plaque adorning the top of the frame.
The Minister For Magic.
The woman in pink rapped her knuckles on the door in a quick, staccato pattern, earning herself a quick, "Come in!" from inside.
The Minister's office was smaller than Harry had expected, especially considering the man's typically grandiose attitude. What it lacked in size, however, it made up for in opulence. Filled bookshelves spanned both walls, the rows of thick books broken up by various trinkets and glowing baubles. Some of which would fly out from their shelf to hover in the air a moment, before zipping back to their resting place.
On the wall opposite the door, a massive window took up most of the space, the rest filled with filing cabinets that stretched up to the ceiling, each drawer with a small label on the front. The glass offered him a view of the atrium, the very top of the giant golden fountain just barely visible from their high vantage point.
Fudge sat in the middle of the room behind a massive wooden desk, its color a near match for Harry's wand. A woman with short gray hair stood at his right, peering over his shoulder at one of the many stacks of paper that were spread across his desk.
His signature bowler hat rested next to his wand, which nearly blended into the wood of his desk. Two black chairs sat opposite Fudge, though they looked far less comfortable than the ones in Jacobson's office.
Fleur's quiet gasp of surprise drew Harry out of his inspection and he turned to find her staring with wide eyes.
"Madam Bones?" she asked, confusion lacing her deferential tone. "I thought you had left earlier to go meet with the Italian Ministry with the Chief Warlock and the Ambassador."
The woman looked up, fixing her steely brown gaze on Fleur, before doing a quick sweep of the assembled group.
"I was able to leave things to them and come back early. I'm so backlogged that I need the extra time to catch up before tomorrow. The Minister asked me to come help with some reports. Since he's even busier than I am, I've agreed to show you around a bit while he finishes up." She waved a hand across the desk, almost every available spot filled with various stacks of parchment and reference books.
Fudge let out a mirthless chuckle.
"Yes, even if Dumbledore and I don't always see eye-to-eye, he certainly handles quite a bit of paperwork as Chief Warlock. Paperwork which unfortunately falls to me while he is out on official business. Please forgive my poor manners for inviting you to visit, then sending you along with someone else right away. I'll be along as soon as I finish this last section."
He turned to look up at Madam Bones.
"Amelia, if you would?"
She nodded and waved to the group as she stepped around the large desk.
"We'll be going to the Wizengamot Chambers first, then we'll make our way back upstairs and through some of the more significant departments. It's important to see where the laws begin before we see how they are executed."
Harry turned to follow, then hesitated when Fudge spoke again.
"Ah, Dolores, and Miss Delacour. If you could stay behind for a moment, I would appreciate some help. Both Dumbledore and Amelia have mentioned your proficiency on a number of occasions, Miss Delacour. I hope you don't disappoint," he added with a wide smile.
"Of course, Minister," she said, casting a quick, apologetic smile at Harry.
"I won't keep you long. We'll be finished momentarily," Fudge said, shooing the rest of the group from the office with a wave of his hand.
Harry, Hermione, and Sirius followed Madam Bones from the office, leaving Fleur and the Undersecretary inside with Fudge.
XxX
The door clicked shut behind Sirius and the Minister let out a quiet groan.
"I have been looking at these papers all day, and the words are beginning to blend together." He fixed Fleur with tired eyes and waved her over. "Miss Delacour, this is your department, I believe. Would you help me cross-reference the verbiage on this new legislation with the old version so I can finally sign off on it and be done with it? Dolores, would you please run to Bertha in Transportation and let her know I'll need to reschedule our appointment for a little later tonight?"
She nodded without a word and slipped from the office and shut the door.
The Minister lifted his wand and hat from where they rested on the desk and shifted a piece of parchment over, scooting it so Fleur could see as she stepped up next to him.
The page was the first of a standard Auror report, but the lines for information were blank and unused.
"Minister?" she asked, turning her head to look at him. "What-?"
The muscles in her neck locked, halting the motion. She tried to straighten, a burst of concern blooming in her chest, making her heart thunder.
Neither her back nor her legs answered her, her muscles remaining stoic and taut.
Movement danced at the edge of her periphery. Fudge's head moved into view as he bent down at the opposite side of his desk, tapping the bottom drawer with his wand. It popped open with a click, a soft clinking sound rattling around inside from the motion.
It made her heart stop and breath catch in her throat. The unmistakable, torturous sound of metal chains being knocked together.
She raged against the spell holding her in place, pushing against it with every ounce of panic that burned inside her veins.
A cool hand grasped her shoulder and tilted her back, her stomach lurching as she fell backwards. Rather than impact the ground, she found she had been dropped into the chair the minister had been sitting in, though her locked posture made the position awkward and painful.
"We won't be using ropes this time," the Minister growled, dropping the manacles onto the desk in front of her as he bent down to the ground.
She tried to follow his movements with her eyes, but they didn't respond; burning as her lids couldn't blink, stinging for the want of fear and fury filled tears.
After a moment of muttering out of sight, he stood and grabbed the horrible restrictive metal, a loud metal thud sounding as he locked a piece down by the ground.
He rose back into view, five chains clasped in one hand and fixed her with a fervent, manic stare.
"It took a lot of work to figure out how we were going to capture you if you came along too. If it had been the others, it'd have been simple. But instead, I have to worry about that unnatural fire of yours." He knelt, the pressure of two shackles pressing into her ankles a moment later. She wanted to hiss in a breath as a sliver of bare skin at the bottom of her trousers touched the metal and sent a spike of horrible, familiar burning pain across her ankle.
Her muscles screamed as she strained against the spell, floundering in her captivity.
"My master doesn't put much stock in learning about our enemies," he said, rising to fasten the cuffs around her bare wrists.
Pain burst to life and the smell of burning flesh drifted up to her nostrils, catapulting her back into the insurmountable panic of a small, terrified little girl.
"But, I suppose when you're a powerful wizard like him, you don't have to."
His breath was cool against the skin of her neck as he wrapped the last shackle around her, the final click of the lock like thunder in her ears.
She screamed inside her mind, the flesh of her neck and chest boiling away beneath the metal.
"But I don't want to fail him," the Minister said, bending over and fumbling around her waist and thighs as he spoke. "And sometimes, that means doing a lot of digging into things that shouldn't matter in the first place."
She writhed internally, a pungent mix of pain and disgust left with nowhere to express.
He let out a grunt of satisfaction when he reached around to her back and discovered the small sleeve where she kept her wand while at work. He slid it out and held it in front of himself, frowning down at the length of rosewood, his face twisting into a furious sneer.
"Half-breeds are a bastardization of humans, and don't deserve a human's wand."
The snap of her wand resonated in harmony with her heart; broken in front of her like nothing more than a simple twig. The thin silver core dangled from one of the halves, its shining silvery light fading to a dull gray.
But even such monumental pain faded as the skin on her wrists gave way, eliciting a new wave of agony.
"Don't worry too much," the Minister said, placing the remnants of her wand on the desk behind him. "You're not going to be killed and neither is your little friend down there."
He grabbed his hat and turned to go, his voice loud over the sounds of her skin burning away.
"Stay put and we'll get that iron off you when we're finished."
He turned and cast a hateful grin at her as he reached the door.
"But don't get too worked up. The closer you are to that filthy fairy blood of yours, the more it burns. We wouldn't want you to kill yourself by burning through your pretty little neck, now would we?"
He pulled open the door and stepped out, clicking it shut behind him with a quiet thud.
She raged against the body-bind curse, fear curdling her insides while searing pain mixed with the acrid smell of her burning flesh.
She needed to scream. To move. To do anything but be locked away, helpless.
Again.
Instead, the office sat silent and still as a nightmare boarded an elevator out of sight, affixing the bowler hat atop his balding head.