The 7th Seal
2 – Family Plot
Author's Note: This story was conceived before Deathly Hallows came out and will not be 100 canon compliant. In my take the war was longer, harsher, and I offed a lot more people than JKR did. Also, I seem to be unable to keep a beta around, so your corrections and suggestions are welcome.
The young man with the Auror badge and the pierced eyebrow rushed into the office and stopped dead on the doorway.
"Weasley, sir! This just came in… uh…"
He froze, unable to move or utter a word, stumped by the presence of an authority in the cramped, chaotic office. The Undersecretary for the Minister of Magic turned and watched him coolly through gold-rimmed glasses.
"This is a confidential meeting," he said. "Unless you have clearance, I'd suggest you retire."
"Never mind, Ballywhistle," the other said, absently swishing his wand; the rolled parchment flew from the young Auror's hands across the small room and into his outstretched palm. "Thank you."
That seemed to unclench the young Auror. "N-nice catch, sir" he said with a shy smile, and withdrew.
Chief Weasley's smile became forced as he turned to face his interlocutor. "You were saying?" he asked, returning to the discussion at hand.
"As I was saying, I had a meeting with the Minister yesterday, and we've discussed matters involving, among others, this department. From a strategic point of view, it's high time we redistribute resources within the Ministry. There are other services in dire need of personnel and funds, and we are forced to downsize the Auror department."
"I see" Weasley replied, putting all his disgust in the two syllables. "And which 'services' are we talking about here? The Office for Cauldron Bottom Thickness Assessment? What do you think people value more, P… Sir? Substandard scales from Azerbaijan… "
The Undersecretary blinked and shifted position on the chair. It was designed for hosting uncooperative witnesses, not visiting authorities, and it was uncomfortable and rickety.
"It's good to see you're up to date on the matter," he rebated. "You know people would do anything for wizarding durables. We're being deluged with counterfeit items ranging from the shoddy to the downright dangerous. There's..."
"Aurors can look into black market issues as well," the Head Auror stated drily. "And quill pushers armed with capilers won't take on a gang of Snatchers, no matter how many times they outnumber them."
"No need to be snide. A Department doesn't have to be worthless only because its members aren't on the Daily Prophet every other week."
Chief Weasley's hand balled to a fist. "I'm fighting to keep this department free while the Minister accepts bribes left, right and center! Where are those foreign investors he always talks about?"
"Pipe down, for the love of Merlin," the Ministry hissed. "How naïve can you be? What can he say, 'we'll be bankrupt by next Tuesday unless you lend me some more money'? The goblins have us by the balls enough as it is."
"So some fat shark is donating a big bag of money to boost the economy, and the Ministry makes sure that I don't go hungry and that there are never enough resources to do a half-decent job." The hand that had been clenched tight had another paroxism. "Do I have to remind you it's exactly how we had a second war?"
"Now see here. I see your point, I really do. But you can't want to send half of the population to Az… to prison! Everyone made a slip at a point or other."
If looks could charm, the glare that Weasley gave to his superior would be an Unforgivable. The Minister's next deliver came out stammering.
"I know this may sound ungrateful, what with the losses that... but I assure you that the Aurors's contribution – your sacrifices – will never be forgotten. But it is time to move on and think of rebuilding, not retaliating."
"My boys can't just 'move on'. This is their life! They've been doing unpaid overtime since the war. They've given up friends, given up family, all to their commitment, and the Ministry 'thank you' is a kick in the ass?! The shirkers get the sweetener and my boys get the sack!"
"No one will be "getting the sack", Ron. You have my word. The people will be given other assignments. Not as thrilling, but more useful in times of peace. A small force will be maintained, of course, for trivial business."
"Trivial? TRIVIAL?" The use of that word, or maybe his name, was the final straw. Ronald Weasley took the dossier that was on top of his IN tray and threw it into his brother's lap. The dossier opened and pictures flew everywhere. Some of them landed face-up and Percy gave a snarl of disgust.
"What the…"
"They've reopened 's moonstone cave in Flagley and found out someone's been using it as a mass grave," Ron explained, his voice harsh. "Two dozen bodies so far, and I barely have enough men to give those poor people a name, let alone find out who did it."
"I'm sorry, brother. This is a final decision," Percy said, standing up and picking up his parchments and folders. "I've vouched for you, but if you keep this attitude I won't be able to help you."
"You think you're helping me?" Ron yelled, rising to his full height. "You call this fucking helping me?"
People were staring at the two brothers from the corridor window by this time, and that gave Ron pause. He stood, shaking with suppressed energy, his face red.
"You must've learned anger management from Harry," Percy commented.
"My anger management is excellent or your head would be a pumpkin. Now get out. OUT!"
The Undersecretary left in a rush, and Chief Weasley sat down again. His temples were pounding.
This is it, he mused, as a strange feeling of aching warmth started within him. He felt like a heavy robe had just slid from his shoulders, and he acknowledged, sitting at his desk in the Auror Department, that the war was over. Heroes were no longer in demand, and his chance at becoming one had slipped him by.
"Come out, Ernie," he sighed. "I know you were eavesdropping."
Ernie McMillan came out of the file cabinet and tried to recover his dignity by adjusting the collar of his robe.
"I really don't know what possessed the Hat to sort your brother in Gryffindor, Ron. Should've made a new House… the Toadsnot or something."
Ron gave a nonplussed sort of shrug and Ernie spoke again.
"So, this is it, eh?"
"It's been in the air for a while, ever since I was moved to this rathole of an office."
"Well, I suppose it's time for me to move on, too… I could take up haunting, find myself a decent mansion…" he said, trying to sound funny.
Ernie McMillan held the unenviable record of being the only wizard to ever receive a posthumous Order of Merlin – and yet take part in the ceremony. He was out in the forest gathering fluxweed, when he had stumbled upon a powwow of Death Eaters, who had Avada Kedavra'd him on the spot. That had proved an unwise move, as within an hour, his ghost had led a platoon of Aurors onto the unsuspecting Death Eaters, not one of which had escaped. Ernie had become a sort of mascot in the Department, which hosted many of his Hogwarts fellows; but many familiar faces had gone forever during the war, and now the last ones would scatter shortly.
After the ghost left, Ron leaned back against the armchair and sat there for a while, sipping a Summoned tea and staring at the board clustered with notes and threatening mugshots.
It had taken a while for him to finally see the writings on the wall. All the people who had spent the war in a grey zone, not killing on Voldemort's order nor fighting against him, all the people who had bargained for their safety with the Death Eaters, were pressing on the Ministry from within and without. Small wonder Harry had wanted out. What with Fudge and Scrimgeour, he had been in the front seat from the start; he had seen this coming.
The news had been heavy with consequences, and it took a while before he remembered the roll that Ballywhistle had been so eager to give him. Taking his time, he donned his lunette glasses, unrolled the parchment and started reading.
A second later he jumped up, dropping hot tea in his lap and making the secretaries outside wince.
"Merlin's bollocks!"
He grabbed a cloak, a hat, and with a loud crack, he Disapparated.