So, this is a story that came to me when I received my prompt for the Reverse Challenge 2014 over at Hawthorne & Vine. It was a manip with a sparsely dressed Draco in ties and Hermione in a very dominating stance (and clothing) above him. It is called "Death Eater Auction" and contains the slogan "Do what you want with me, Granger", done by the wonderful Absolute. Go check out her work.
This story turned out to be too complex for the deadline of the challenge, therefore, I had to write a replacement and only now am I able to finish it.
This is the first chapter. I'm aiming to be done posting in the spring.
Warnings: while M rated, I didn't take the obvious route from the prompt. This story is rather angsty and partially dark. If you like Orwell and Huxley, this is for you. Mentions of torture, bodily harm, swearing, substance abuse, imprisonment, political intrigue, psychological trauma and manipulations, all stuff that occurs in a war-torn country, if not explicit, at least it's being mentioned.
Regular disclaimer here: Don't own any of Rowling's characters, only the plot development
Enjoy. Let me know how you like it. Be polite, please
River
P.S. If anybody can let me know how to get more space between paragraphs, please let me know. I've shift-entered my fingers bloody, wasted time, and nothing!
Chapter 1:
"What are we going to do with the young'uns?" Spencer Scrivener queried into the exhausted silence.
A firework went off somewhere in the hallway one level up. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the interim and most likely future Minister for Magic, heard the jubilation accompanying the screeching of a fire dragon and stroked over his tired face at the two-sided image: celebration and protest.
Outside, on the streets of Wizarding London and, to be honest, in the halls of the Ministry of Magic as well, the celebrations continued, despite the summer heat. Meanwhile, inside the courtrooms Kingsley was doing his best to root out the problem behind the collapse of society as they knew it – wizarding society that is.
Kingsley Shacklebolt and his council were confident that the Muggle Prime Minister had the rest of the country well in hand. Kingsley had made sure of it in his latest meeting with the man. The Muggle Prime Minister had been a little intimidated to see Kingsley's length unfold out of his fireplace; however, having been advised that this could happen in times of turmoil, such as the country had experienced with those many natural catastrophes, he had taken a deep breath, put on an uncertain smile, and welcomed the tall, dark wizard with a manly handshake.
Kingsley smiled to himself. Yes, Muggle Great Britain was shaping up again from the ravages of the Dark Lord and his followers, and, for those who were too traumatized from it, help in the form of Obliviation could be arranged. He had explained this to the Prime Minister who had listened intensely and sworn to inform Kingsley through the picture of the old man with the wig should the need arise. It remained to be seen if he really would, but the Muggle world was not really Kingsley's concern.
His concern was what to do with the chaos on this side of the Leaky Cauldron. For one, it was quite an ordeal to drive out all of Voldemort's supporters and replace them with good law-abiding citizens who had their priorities straight and who wouldn't judge their fellow wizard by his or her blood status or alignments with purebloods. Kingsley had done a remarkable job turning the Wizengamot around, if he said so himself, appointing all remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix to it, and retiring anyone who couldn't name at least one Muggle or Muggleborn member in the last five generations of their family. This measure together with the incarceration of many a member of the old pureblood families took care of a large percentage of potential and obvious Voldemort supporters, thus ensuring a future legislature that would not disadvantage a huge part of their population, namely Muggle-borns.
"A very good question, Spencer." Shacklebolt was pleased that the question had been brought up by someone other than himself. It meant that he wasn't the only one thinking. Leaning back after a long session, Kingsley mused that it often felt like he had pulled the entire re-establishment of society out of his own hat.
Much to Kingsley's chagrin, the Death Eaters had not simply laid down their wands at the long-awaited and much celebrated exodus of their leader at the Final Battle of Hogwarts on May 2, 1998. Several, especially the Lestranges and Yaxley, had taken offense and subsequently rogue factions of former Death Eaters had popped up everywhere, wreaking havoc all over the country. Helped by the speed of Apparation, they, and other miscreants, had appeared erratically throughout the nation and left destruction, screaming children, and wailing families in their wake. Thus, the administration of Wizarding Britain had doused emergency fires since the Final Battle to prevent the country from falling into an anarchistic state of total destruction. It had taken all of the early summer to capture the last fugitives. Every last Auror and helping hero had been required to tag, follow, fight, and vanquish the mindless fanatics. With them safely stored away in Azkaban and their wands snapped, it was the decision of the Ministry to dole out their sentencing.
Lucius Malfoy had been the first one apprehended, but then, he hadn't fought very hard, or at all for that matter. Standing flummoxed in the middle of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, a never before seen incredulous expression on his aristocratic face, he had basically waved a white flag. With Narcissa's hand on his wrist, he had let himself being taken away when he realized that his family's dream of pureblood domination was broken.
This had likely saved himself and his family from the vigilantism that befell their wayward counterparts.
While the revolting groups had destroyed as much of the country-they-couldn't-have as possible, the common people had believed if they threatened to punish the "friends" of these rogues, the miscreants would stop to protect those once part of their group. Unfortunately, these people had banked on loyalty that just wasn't there and almost made themselves into criminals in the process. With magic, it was just too easy to take a life or to injure a fellow wizard without a second thought. Amadeus Parkinson and his screaming wife and daughter could attest to that. There had been an incident where the Aurors had arrived in the nick of time to prevent his public execution by the people living close to his estate. Blood boiled, and boiled over, under the calm and tired surface in the people's soul simply by looking at the turn their lives had taken due to this rebellious destructive group and the climate Voldemort had evoked.
After their removal, the punishment of these rogue perpetrators was the most urgent business of the day and so the Wizengamot had come together to convey the sentencing. Permanent incarceration, without pardon, ordered for all Death Eaters and supporters who had actively worked for He-who-could-finally-be-named-because-he's-dead. Their spouses and any supporters, whose degree of involvement was uncertain, would remain under house arrest behind magical barriers until further notice and with the full intention of making it as long lasting as possible. For life if they could justify it. Out of sight, out of mind, at least for the raging public.
All would be remanded to Ministry custody at the very least, while waiting for their trials, albeit it was a foregone conclusion that the ones in Azkaban would stay there for a long, long time. Only specifics like visitation rights, whether and for how long they would stay in solitary custody, and whether to re-install the Dementors for the right atmosphere to make the evildoers suffer appropriately would be discussed. That the Azkaban inhabitants would receive more company before long from the ones under house arrest didn't need discussion.
Kingsley passed the question about the Death Eater offspring on to everybody else in the room. "What with them?"
A nervous shuffling and clueless staring was the reply.
"Well …," came a hesitant calm voice.
"Yes, Arthur? Any ideas?" Kingsley leaned forward expectantly. Arthur Weasley was one of the newly established members of the Wizengamot. Kingsley would have appointed Molly Weasley as well, but Molly had other things to deal with at the moment.
As it was, Kingsley had put all Order of the Phoenix members on the Wizengamot, including Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were now of age and, clearly, had earned the respect of every wizard and witch by defeating Voldemort. They were part of Wizarding history and had every right to be part of the new administration. This was the least in Kingsley's power to allow. Further, they deserved to be involved in the prosecution of those who had made their lives hell for the past few years. A hell they themselves had extinguished, under great personal sacrifices.
Kingsley took a deep breath to calm his anger and shifted his attention back to the father whose family had suffered great losses due to the war. Frederic Gideon Weasley had been buried with no less honour and fanfare than Albus Dumbledore.
"Well, it may be too late for the parents to see the errors of their ways. But if we don't take care of their children, of age though they may be, then we'll have another war on hand when they are old enough. We have to give them a chance to integrate themselves into society. Right now, they are outsiders who have lost the war and they will be despised wherever they go. They will be blamed and scapegoated for their parents' involvement. But if we put them together with our young champions and make them help clean up the mess the war created, perhaps we can mold their minds and help them see how wrong it all was."
Kingsley sat up. With a beaming smile, he focused on his old comrade-in-arms. "Now, that's an idea. How would we do this?"
"We leave them in house arrest in their respective homes, private schooling if they haven't finished Hogwarts yet, and at assigned times they have to go out with our young champions."
Due to their young age, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had taken a seat a little to the side of the Wizengamot auditorium. Therefore, Ron felt perfectly entitled, and sure that his father wouldn't notice when he scoffed quietly, "We are supposed to play babysitters for former classmates?"
Hermione admonished him distractedly with a hiss, while clutching his hand beneath the balustrade, which separated the seating area from the main area, but her attention was entirely focused on the discussion. "Do you have a better idea, Ron?"
Ron threw her an angry look. After their kiss before the Final Battle, he and Hermione were dating now, albeit, with little progress so far, as there had been very little time for it. Holding hands while sitting in public and private places was pretty much the only possible option. Due to Molly's state, Hermione didn't dare to stay overnight at the Burrow, and Ron didn't feel comfortable leaving his mother alone for long. None of the brothers nor Ginny did. With Charlie back in Romania, the siblings took turns staying at home for hours at a time.
Besides, Ron knew that Hermione, just like him, collapsed from exhaustion as soon as her head was close to horizontal. Until the nightmares came.
He shook his head dejectedly. He didn't like her treating him as if he hadn't done his potions' essay on time or with the required length of parchment, but time together was precious and so he didn't want to spoil the mood. He hoped, though, that she would stop nagging at some point. He couldn't take much more of it, what with his mother's illness and his own exhaustion, and the never-ending effort to pull peace from a war-torn country.
A disgusted voice piped up, pulling Ron from his introspection. Zador Smith showed the Golden Trio exactly where his son had gotten his mistaken sense of entitlement. Ron exchanged a knowing look with Harry on his left. His best mate and the saviour of the Wizarding world looked just as worn out as they all were, his green eyes sparkling unnaturally in a pale greyish face.
"We are supposed to let this Death Eater scum live in peace in their comfortable homes while we scramble to clean up after them? Put them to work, for crying out loud, is what I say. Put them in a temporary home and make them work if they want to eat. Manage their own groceries, cooking, cleaning, learning. I'd be happy to watch over them scrubbing floors. Home schooling in their puffy armchairs? Most likely in front of cozy fireplaces with House-elves serving hot chocolate," he scoffed.
"Zador, if we mistreat them,…" Arthur Weasley jumped in and then, with an upheld hand, stalled a remark from Smith before he could protest against the accusation. "… or if we even give them reason to believe that they are mistreated, we lose them. They will never understand that they are not better than us if we do the same thing they would have done with us had the Dark Lord won. We have to bring compassion to them and treat them kindly."
Of course… ." Arthur quieted the uproar from his fellow Wizengamot members with his raised hands and minimally raised voice. "Of course, they shall not go to waste the time we give them. There are enough mouths to feed, people to care for, and damages to repair. They shall help. Perhaps they will understand, with every story they read to an orphan and every stable they muck out because the owner is injured and every house they rebuild for an innocent family, that we are all in the same hot cauldron and that we have to help each other. Something that we will do anyway. They may even realize that they are not entirely blameless for the state we are all in."
Subdued nodding in some areas, angry mumbling in others was Arthur's reply. He added, "I'd be more than happy to take one into my home. My wife can certainly use a hand, now that she's …." He didn't complete his sentence. It wasn't necessary. Everybody knew the state Molly Weasley was in. The loss of her son and the mutilation of two others had left a deep, festering wound.
"How is she doing today, Ron?" Harry whispered.
Ron shrugged. "Same as yesterday." He accepted the soothing hands on his shoulders from his best friends for a moment but shook them off soon. He couldn't stand what he mistook for pity for long. It only fueled his anger over the state of his family.
"Muck out the stables, that's the best I've heard." Smith spoke up again. "And why not scrub their own floors?"
"Because if we force them to their knees, literally or figuratively, they will resist, Mr. Smith."
Ron startled when the clear voice cut into the aggravated silence right next to him. All heads turned to the side where they were sitting and focused on Hermione, who had stood up. You cannot live in a tent for a year with another person without knowing that person inside out. Ron knew Hermione's body language well, and Harry's long exhale on his other side confirmed what he thought: her whole body was primed for a fight, her face set, her shoulders straightened and bent forward, her feet in an authoritative stance. Firmly focused on her classmate's father, she continued, "Do you want to raise a resistance?"
Ron wanted to pull on her hand to make her to sit down again, but when she stood up she had let go of his hand and, relieved, Ron put his hands between his knees and leaned forward, until his face was hidden behind the balustrade.
He really didn't like the attention of his father and all these other administrators focused on them. He knew Harry was okay with it, but Harry had grown so much over the past year that Ron wasn't sure he would ever catch up. He was still Ron's best mate and all was good when they were idly talking about Quidditch in the evening; however, the current climate made Ron realize at every turn that their childhood was over. This was no game and there were damages that had to be fixed. Being responsible wasn't really Ron's favourite pastime.
Ron sighed when he felt Hermione still standing next to him. However, he had to be responsible for a lot, these days. With his father and brothers at work, Ron helped George in the joke shop for hours at a time, to earn some money and to help his brother with the work and Fred's absence. He also had to spend time at home with his lethargic, despondent mother. His girlfriend, who should have given him some respite with some warm, cuddly feelings, on the other hand, wasn't lethargic or despondent, but rather explosive and aggravating. These days it didn't take much to get Hermione going. Ron suppressed a huff. It wasn't as if he didn't understand, they all had one difficulty or another to deal with, but he didn't get why Hermione, not Harry, claimed to need the most understanding of them all.
Bill had taken him aside one day, after Ron and Hermione had a blazing row in the back yard over something widely insignificant and hardly worth remembering, and explained one thing or two about women to his little brother. Ron had only listened with half an ear, feeling unrightfully blamed for what was clearly one of Hermione's moods, and thought that Bill had it easy. With Fleur pregnant and his wounds healing well, he seemed to have it made, despite the anxious times. Ron saw Bill's half-mangled face on the other side of the room, next to Percy and George. Fleur had refused to join the Wizengamot, claiming her French origins and her pregnant state as valid excuses. Instead, Bill quite sufficiently represented their bond. Despite the worry lines on his forehead and his somber features, Bill Weasley carried calm like a well-fitting coat that Ron had always envied.
Even with his brother's good advice, Ron still had no idea what to do with this girlfriend of his. She certainly didn't turn out to be the comfy, warm female body he had envisioned when kissing her back in the middle of the adrenaline rush of the battle of their lives.
Hermione was aware that Ron was anything but pleased with her. However, she really had other things on her mind besides stroking his dissatisfied ego. Of course, she wanted to make a go of their relationship. She loved Ron, didn't she? But it was difficult to concentrate on any one thing in these busy times and it was even more difficult to tolerate people's constant need to be the focus of attention. Especially when so much had been lost.
Arthur Weasley sent her a small smile. It was so reminiscent of Remus Lupin's way to praise a student's achievement that it drove tears into Hermione's eyes; Remus Lupin, who was no more; and Tonks, his wife, who had been a good friend; and Teddy, their son, who would grow up an orphan.
Hermione relaxed her shoulders a bit when Smith spluttered at her sharp remark. She hadn't been aware of how tight she was holding her back. She only noticed at night, when she got home, how much of a strain she was under each and every day. When there was only one thing that would help her through the night.
"Miss Granger," he began contemptuously, "as much as I appreciate your expertise in defeating dark wizards -" Hermione inhaled audibly. There could hardly be any doubting her expertise. What was he playing at?
"- I would appreciate more if you left the expertise of administration to those who have much more experience in it."
Hermione huffed in exasperation. Was he really going to challenge her with his expertise in sitting in an office chair? "Like you, you mean?" she asked waspishly.
Zador Smith's eyes glowed fervently. "Like my entire department, yes. There can hardly be any doubt that Mesdames Braithwaite, Fittleworth, and Frobisher, and Mr Gagwilde have done a remarkable job in the last decade. Despite the impeding circumstances."
Mesdames Braithwaite, Fittleworth, and Frobisher nodded concurrently.
"You may be a new Wizengamot member in your own rights -" He put the emphasis on new. "- but you still have a lot to learn."
"Mr. Smith,…" Hermione started, but before she could set to an hour-long explanation of exactly which kind of expertise hers was, Ron grabbed her arm in a quick determined move and pulled her down to her seat. "Enough, Hermione," he hissed. "Let it go. You made your point."
Hermione sat, staring wide-eyed at her boyfriend, and wanting to make a sharp remark, but Ron glared at her, and even Harry shook his head. This was not the time to fight.
Hermione huffed again when she felt overruled and silenced and, folding her arms in front of her chest, sat back in her seat.
"I just have the safety of our paladins in mind," Zador Smith provided with a smug smile at the disappearance of his opponent. His following grimace disproved his words. "How are we going to make sure that one of them isn't overpowered by a young Death Eater, kidnapped, tortured, and what have you?"
"They are not Death Eaters, Zador," Minerva McGonagall threw in. "You cannot punish the son for his father's sins."
Smith spluttered again. His angry muttering was drowned out by a formidable witch from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes adding, "Besides, we could take their wands away for the time they are with our young fighters. Or limit the wands' capacity for spell casting, if we were worried."
"Yes, we should definitely take their wands for the night, lest they hurt themselves or each other. It's for their protection as well as ours," Millicent Bagnold said.
"Well, I want them to end up in Azkaban should they refuse to comply, with both their new lodgings and the work they are supposed to be doing. One lash, one angry remark at one of our young heroes, my son included, and they'll be shipped off before they can say Slytherin," Smith remarked snidely. His followers and a few other Wizengamot members nodded vigorously.
"Yes, thank you, Smith, I'll keep that in mind," Kingsley acknowledged this remark impatiently. "If you prefer, we can vote on this idea to re-integrate the Death Eater children by having them accompany a good example of good citizenry for a set amount of time and do manual labour to clean up the war mess. Let's say assessments every few weeks, to evaluate if we can let them go? Raise your hand if you approve of this program."
The vote passed with a two-thirds majority.
Kingsley was relieved. One less thing to worry about. "I thank you all. Now, we need volunteers who will take one such child under their wings. One per family or person will do."
After the selection of potential volunteers to care for the children of Death Eaters, there was one more thing to do for the day. The most important one, actually.
Because punishing the villains was one thing, however, charting out how to run a country after a war quite another. And the changes to be dealt with, Merlin, were manifold.
"On the account of the dark magic spell used by Voldemort supporters, what shall we do, fellow wizards and witches?" the Minister queried his council.
"What can we do, Minister?" a tired looking witch asked back.
Along with a number of arduous and hotly contested policy issues, such as the one they had just resolved, there were a variety of matters, some mundane others potentially catastrophic, outside the Wizengamot chambers that remained unresolved. The strain of post-war clean up and societal rehabilitation was beginning to show on everyone's face. Until now, it seemed there had been very little progress, especially concerning the reintegration of those from the opposition forces. With a solid plan approved to take care of that problem, perhaps they could devote their energy to the threats to their society that would not be legislated into submission.
One such issue to be dealt with was the residue of the magic that the maniacal supporters of the thankfully-deceased Voldemort had used. Voldemort had done his homework, inventing and bequeathing upon his followers a spell, which contained so much dark magic that it spread when other magic was used on it, creating something like a magical black hole. It lay waste to everything beneath it, the same way a Muggle atom bomb lay waste to everything it touched; ripping every living thing in its vicinity apart. When it was cast, no other magic could ever be used on the same spot. It wasn't a pretty sight when they first tried.
To impede matters, despite the celebrations of Harry Potter's win over the timely demised, people were angry, tempers were short and rash action the order of the day. This was the very reason why Kingsley Shacklebolt had pushed the prosecution of the perpetrators to the forefront, while ordering everyone else to help with the cleanup. This kept their hands busy, while giving him time to keep the bad guys from getting lynched.
Busy hands meant tired minds, and this extra physical activity had two advantages. One was that physically- busy people slept better. This was a welcome commodity in a community that suffered the consequences of war and nightmare abundance. The second was that physically exhausted people didn't have much of a mind to think about revenge, retaliation, or any other inconvenient-while-trying-to-re-build-a-state notion. This was particularly beneficial if you needed to rebuild this state brick by brick, literally by hand, because a population, which used magic for all kinds of everyday activities, combined in most unfortunate ways with the Apocalypto spell.
Therefore, an entire civilization must learn to use their hands, and not their wands, for once in their history of magic, creating unprecedented circumstances and, in some cases, surprisingly positive side effects.
They had to be taught to use their hands. There was no other way. The positive effect of this, as Kingsley saw it, was that many wizards and witches would be able to appreciate what Muggles had been doing for centuries, and that would actually change the attitude toward Muggle-borns. Albeit Hermione Granger was the most powerful witch of her generation, Muggle-borns were still looked at sideways. They were to some people still the inherent reason for the recent war.
Now, having to work with their hands, Muggle-borns would become everybody's new best friends because they already knew how to do it. And then, finally, everybody would realize that they were all the same.
What a favourable solution.
Kingsley couldn't help feeling a little vindictive toward the former Death Eaters who would not only rot away in Azkaban, but who would also have to watch all their tripe be refuted and turned to the contrary.
Kingsley allowed himself another private smile. He would have loved to see the face of Voldemort, Merlin forbid he would ever see the Dark Lord's face again, literally, when he realized that he had created the perfect opening for Muggle-borns to finally be completely accepted.
If only he could help the process further along. Time was of the essence.
With a tired sigh, Kingsley took the floor again. "I propose restricting the use of magic by the common lay person. Ignorance of the workings of the Apocalypto spell will lead to people ignoring it; and we cannot teach everybody what exactly it does and how to get around it. Especially since we don't know it yet. So, for now we have to prohibit people from using magic at all. That will be the safest way."
A loud wave of outraged "Minister" cries swept his way. Seated as he was now, on the throne elevated on a dais, in the middle of the courtroom, he stared down his legislators. Voldemort had installed the gaudy piece for his own comfort, in a sudden deranged and mistaken belief that he had won the Ministry, and Kingsley had not bothered to remove the Sticking charm cementing it to the floor. He had figured, quite rightly it seemed, that it would be good to use the pompous piece of furniture as a reminder and a warning. Thus, he parked his behind on the smooth, solid black glass surface whenever he needed to drive a point in people's minds. He was aware of how it looked, a dark skinned wizard on a pitch-black throne, and was not opposed to the effect it had.
"How exactly would we be able to restrict magic, Minister? We cannot walk around and check every single family, every day." Zador Smith was one of the colleagues for whom Kingsley sat on this ugly monstrosity. Even after appointing everyone who was left from the Order of the Phoenix to the Wizengamot, there had still been places to fill for a full court. Smith was a senior secretary in the Department of Magical Cooperation. He had to be good for something. His entire family was Hufflepuff. How much damage could they do, for crying out loud?
Arthur Weasley interceded again, as Kingsley's newly-appointed second-in-command. A Muggle-loving Senior Administrator who had been actively involved in the war and both Orders of the Phoenix and who knew from personal experience how costly war was had seemed a good idea at the time. There had been enough fight. Now it was time to fiddle and to rebuild.
"We could put the trace on magic in general. So far, it's only been put on minors, to prevent them from accidental damage while they are not fully educated. But there's nothing preventing us from putting it on all magic."
It was still a good idea, it seemed. Kingsley was pleased. "Excellent idea, Arthur. Thank you."
A groan went through the crowd. And then everybody talked at once.
"WHAT, clean our own houses? By hand?"
"Do you know the right hand movement for a sponge?"
"No, but I've seen a picture of my grandmother who had one in her hand, once. Let's see if I can find it again."
"Got a shipload of pan scrubbers, brand new, nice greenish colour, for a special price."
"Mundungus, this is hardly the time."
"This is outrageous. I will never…"
"… just wiping it down. It's not so bad."
"How can you possibly think that we … And after all this mess, we cannot even clean it up quickly and be on our way to recovery?"
"What about our patients in St. Mungo's? It will take ages to heal everybody the Muggle way."
"Kingsley, there will be protests. You cannot make everybody work by hand," Minerva McGonagall cautioned.
Kingsley stood up. When this didn't stop the unruly crowd from muttering and yelling amongst and over each other, he stepped onto his ugly throne and cast a
Sonorus on his throat.
"Enough! Fellow wizards and witches, we have no other choice." His voice booming through the room finally drowned out the protests, albeit the silence was reluctant and tension-filled, as if the protests were barely held in check.
"We have no choice but to prohibit magic. You've seen what happens when we use magic on top of this dark spell. We will eradicate ourselves if we keep doing it. It will shred and annihilate us, the way it has done with Carlson's cows. Yes, we still have to give everybody a home and order, but we will have to do it by hand. Listen, this is only a precaution until we found a way to counter the spell. And it applies only to the common people."
More grousing answered him. It only stopped briefly when Harry spoke up with a frown. "Who do you mean by the common people?" Bated breaths waited for the answer.
Kingsley smiled grimly. "Everyone, except the Wizengamot members, selective teams helping with the re-building, and those who regulate compliance with the protocols for the non-use of magic. We have to put the trace on every spell, and we have to follow-up to see that people oblige, and for that we need to have an enforcement team, which will Apparate to every breach and reinforce the rule."
Hermione's deep inhale was heard despite the sigh of relief that went through the crowd.
Kingsley closed grimly. "I will make a public appearance to inform everybody of this immediate measure."
"How can we convince people that this is the only way? How can we make sure they will not become more violent in protesting what they will see as another vexation in these hard times?" Minerva McGonagall asked worriedly, over the top of the worried chattering that had taken up again.
Arthur Weasley joined his Sonorused voice to Kingsley. "Why, by giving them a good example."
It took the crowd two seconds to process this thought and then all eyes turned as one to the saviour on the side bench, sitting with his loyal companions.
"Harry?"
Harry Potter had sat quietly and listened to the uproar the administration was in. Thus addressed, he reluctantly asked, his low voice carrying in the abrupt silence, "What can I do?"
His best friend's father went to stand before him and said soothingly, "You don't have to do much, Harry. You've done more than enough in defeating Voldemort. But you could tell us about the time when you were growing up as a Muggle. What you had to do by hand, the cleaning, the cooking, the gardening. Tell us about burying Dobby by hand, out of respect. And when you decided not to go for greater power, the way Voldemort did. This will raise people's morale. To know that their hero has chosen, freely, not to use magic and that it is very possible to do things by hand, the way you've done it."
Harry looked disgruntled. "You want us to give up magic? Is this really the only way? And you want me to promote it?"
In a warm fatherly touch, Arthur put a hand on Harry's forearm, which lay on the railing of the bench. "Not permanently, Harry. Just until we've found the way to eliminate this spell. Admittedly, it can take years, but there's no harm in working with your hands for years. However long it takes. We have no choice if we don't want to eliminate us all."
Harry nodded distractedly. "We've certainly lost enough people already. We cannot lose more because of the last of Voldemort's evil deeds." He turned to his best friends who had supported him through his entire ordeal. "Hermione? Do you see another way?"
On his far right, Hermione Granger looked just as concerned, and red-faced as if she had swallowed a huge dose of U-No-Poo, but shook her head quietly. "No, Harry. I think it's likely the only way to keep people safe."
Ron Weasley next to Harry simply shrugged his shoulders and grabbed Hermione's hand again, now that she was not ripping anybody's head off. He gave her an uncertain look. She smiled back and gave his hand a squeeze.
Thus counseled, Harry nodded again, this time with more determination.
"Atta boy, Harry." Arthur Weasley beamed and clapped Harry's shoulder.
The crowd cheered and it took a few minutes to establish enough calm again for Harry to ask for specifics.
"How are we going to do it? I cannot walk from person to person to talk to them. That would take years."
Kingsley stepped down from the throne, ever so glad to have Arthur Weasley on his side. When he picked up the thread, his deep Sonorused voice left no doubt that this plan would work. He had to shout over the disquieted crowd, however, to make them understand.
"We can send out Patronus-like representations of Harry. In the Muggle world, there is a technique called holograms. We will apply the Patronus spell to Harry's representation and send a speaking picture of him around. Every day, people will gather in their homesteads and watch Harry's messages in form of this "Patrogram." Kingsley coined the new term on the spur of the moment and smiled satisfied internally. A new era required a new, fresh language; a language full of phrases that reflected progress and a new way of thinking. Out with the old, in with the new was going to be the new order of the day.
"Harry's Patrogram will be followed by instructions from Muggles and Muggle-borns, or any popular and well-known volunteers, telling them how to do their repairs by hand. This will give everyone advice on what to do and raise their spirits in a way that it is feasible, even if it is exhausting. We can also set up screens where his speech and the daily advice are repeated all day long."
When Kingsley had everybody's giddy attention through his shouting, he continued more quietly. "Arthur and I, along with a select group of assistants, will Apparate around and see how everybody is doing. We will personally visit every site of rebuilding, and St. Mungo's, and each and every family in need of support. We will encourage those who do well without magic and point out areas for improvement to those who need it. That will get the news around on the new order of the day. We have to pull together. When everybody has adjusted to the life without magic and we've either found out how the Apocalypto works or have located all sites where it's been applied, we can slowly re-introduce select spells and charms without causing too much damage."
"What do we do if we need more advice than we get from those messages?"
Kingsley smiled at Zador Smith, the man with the uncanny ability to point out the fault in the system. "Why, you ask a Muggle-born who knows."
He let his words sink in for a minute, waiting for a revolted reply from Smith. It didn't come when Kingsley fixed him with a glare.
With a satisfied nod, Kingsley carried on. "Of course, we will have to establish new Offices in the Ministry. This measure has to become the law for the time being, ergo, we will need a government body to regulate it. We'll call it the Office of Manual Skills Education & Support. Everybody can turn to it to receive advice. Arthur, may I ask you to be the Department Head?"
Overwhelmed at the thought of all this extra work, "by hand," that was coming their way and barely able to go back to the business at hand in their emotional turmoil, the Wizengamot members, looking like a bunch of stupyfied pixies, turned toward Arthur Weasley. Hermione saw the thoughts behind their shocked faces one minute: not me, don't choose me, I want nothing to do with this extra work; and the relief in the next when Arthur Weasley had been called upon. She ground her teeth to keep silent. She understood the fact that nobody wanted any extra burden in times like these; but if everybody was avoiding extra work, they were not getting anywhere. Everybody had to carry an extra parcel.
After the crowd's reaction, it seemed a forgone conclusion to have Arthur Weasley take responsibility for doing things the Muggle-way. Nobody objected. When Arthur nodded his consent, the crowd visibly calmed, and Kingsley gladly moved on. He felt like a man at a children's birthday party who had to tell the crowd that the dog ate the cake. The reluctance to give up traditions, on top of dealing with the damages from the war, led to a hysteria that bubbled barely under the surface. People needed a plan; they needed structure, and fast.
"Please, establish your team as soon as possible. I will see you in my office after this session. You will also be responsible for the daily newscast conveyed in the Harry's Patrogram and advice on how to do things Muggle."
We will also need a Ministry office to monitor and assess situations and locations where the use of magic won't interact with the curse and where it might; to check the safety of people living close to it; and to enforce the proper non-use of magic. This team of compliance officers will have to have a homebase. Let's call it the office of Magic Usage Safety and Surveillance."
After a short moment of digesting the instructions forcefully presented to them by their new leader, the Wizengamot collectively nodded heads.
Kingsley gave them a short take-away message to chew over privately. "Magic is out, relying on Muggle-born knowledge is the new order of the day. Tell everybody. We have to establish this as quickly as possible. Dismissed."
Kingsley nodded grimly when he watched the few hundred wizards and witches who were responsible for the Wizarding world's future legislation file out of the courtroom. It might seem overly simple, but it was a good solution, to simply rely on somebody who knew, in this case, Muggle-borns.
If only Voldemort had thought of asking for better advice, it would have saved them a lot of trouble.