Election Chapter 7

Election Chapter 7:

Puppets on a String


It's as if someone is playing with puppets," Steven responded. "It's very scary to think about."

"Do you think it's someone involved with the election directly?" asked Lucas. Steven looked down at the limp figure of Jack Darby.

"Perhaps, but we could just be dealing with a psycho terrorist. Didn't the Dragon's Fire try to do this once?" responded Steven. Lucas thought for a moment.

"Perhaps...seems like the sort of thing our friend Voldemort would have done as well, but he's dead," Lucas said.

"Like someone else here..." said Steven.

"Was it...did we...was it cold blood? Perhaps we were too hard," Lucas said.

"One wonders what he thought those last moments," Steven said.

"Yes; but I could feel something go inside me, as if I wanted to kill him," Lucas said. Steven looked at his partner.

"We had orders. Those orders stood. We had to go to whatever means necessary to extract information. Perhaps we did go too hard, but he deserved it. Good always triumphs," Steven said.

"That is what horrifies me..."

* * *

Merlin O'Brien paced back and forth in his office. Duke Dingo had cleared his name - it said so in The Daily Prophet and many other newspapers and magazines. And the Ministry had issued a press release. They were supposedly hot on the trail of Zeus MacArthur's murderer. He had also received a letter from the nice folks at the Ministry:

Dear Merlin O'Brien,

Our team of investigators have met with a member of the terrorist group that killed Zeus MacArthur. We cannot give you specific details; but according to the men who interrogated the member, the member committed suicide. We advise you to tighten security; we believe that this unknown terrorist group is trying to somehow control the election. If you have (or have had) attacks against you in any way, shape, or form, please contact us immediately. We wish you luck in the election.

Thank you,

The Ministry Department of Investigation

Strange, Merlin thought. Why didn't they tell me more? Perhaps it was security issues. Or maybe something else - either way, it was highly doubtful someone would get him.

He sat down at his desk, still breathing hard. Why was he breathing so hard? Why was he so nervous?

* * *

At the same time, Duke Dingo paced through his office, unsure of what he was thinking as well. He had received just about the same letter Merlin had received - though he didn't know Merlin had received a letter and didn't care. He felt strange. He was sure of one thing. He would have to watch his back. Yes, he was sure of that.

Duke relaxed himself, taking a long breath and exhaling, beginning to meditate. He chanted nothing meaningful at all and crossed his legs, spreading his arms out. His eyes closed, and he saw colors - sort of. There was yellow and blue and purple and red and hot pink and olive green and other colors of which he did not know the name for.

He blocked out sounds of Muggle traffic - or at least tried to, screeching cats, barking dogs, crying babies, explosions, tigers, and the like - if there was a like.

He thought about nothing in particular...because there wasn't anything particular to think about. Plus, the man who had taught him meditation and yoga had told him to think of nothing in particular - just pink, fluffy clouds and flying ponies. Duke did not like to think of those things. That was why he thought of nothing in particular - he avoided thinking of the ponies. Oh, how wonderful a flying pony could be...it would be wonderful...perhaps. But he shouldn't be thinking of that. Enough politicians wished they could have them, and he did not want to be a normal politician.

But enough with that. Men should not be thinking of flying horses - it was not a manly thing. He would have to send a letter to the yoga teacher - his methods didn't work. He was thinking of fluffy clouds and flying ponies. This sucked, but he needed it. He had to relax...that was the advice the guys at the headquarters had given him. William had especially enforced it.

There was a knock at the door.

The meditation ceased to a halt - it couldn't be silent; there had been no sound.

Duke blinked, staring around the room. His heart skipped a beat as he thought of the letter. No, it couldn't be. No one was going to kill him.

Duke approached the door with as much calmness as possible - it was tough to look calm when the Ministry said your life was threatened. It was tough to be sane. If it was a murderer, what could he do?

He paused. Not many knew he was in the hotel room. He had to calm himself down. But there was the person at the door. What if it was Dracula or Doctor Frankenstein's monster? Ugh - those old Muggle books. Excellent works - just slightly too scary for his tastes.

There was only one way to save himself - or kill himself. He opened the door.

* * *

Colin Creevey walked into his office. It was an office - not a cubicle like most others had. He was a talented reporter - yes, a talented reporter. That was what Mister Hedging had said. Of course, there were many things Mister Hedging had said, but they didn't matter. What mattered was the fact that he was a talented reporter.

Colin sat down at his desk, opening his drawer and pulling out a bottle of Muggle root beer. It was not beer - rather something non-alcoholic and much better. He had tried to convince everyone at the office that it was perfectly healthy to get addicted to, but no one believe him. Why did that not surprise him?

He looked at the parchment on his desk and wondered why wizards couldn't modernize. His dad was a milkman - for crying out loud, he was more modern than wizards! Colin especially enjoyed using Muggle computers. He had found all these "websites" on the "Internet" - was that what they were called? There were a lot of "sites" about wizards - yes, that was slang for the term "website." One had a biography of Harry Potter - the famous Harry Potter. The famous Harry Potter that had defeated You-Know-Who. The famous Harry Potter that had been fired by Duke Dingo - and rightfully so. The famous Harry Potter that had left a note on his desk:

Colin, I've got a story that will give you your big break. Want to know how Duke Dingo really is? How much of a jerk he is? He fired me for no reason. I'm going to be at the Ministry's East Offices in London for the next few days. Hermione and Ron will be there, if you want to see them. I'm training to become a professor. I figure Defense Against the Dark Arts would be just fine. Don't you? Ron's been working there for a while as a lawyer. And Hermione - her job's so secret, I couldn't tell you. Just drop by before Monday.

Colin thought for a moment. He had lived his life as an unsung hero, while Harry Potter masqueraded around, a hero for the world. It was very annoying. He was tired of being an unsung hero. He had done his share in cleaning up the evil of the world. But right now, he had different things to attend to.

The door was open, and a tall red-haired young man walked in. Colin could figure it was a Weasley, but which one? Fred and George were slightly shorter than Ron, and they did not wear glasses. The man at the door did not wear glasses. Then the man pulled his face off.

"That is very disgusting," Colin said.

The man laughed. It was Joey Walcha. Colin remembered his old pal from school. He was the person who had shown him the newspaper article.

"Colin, old buddy! How 'ya been?" Joey asked, eager to strike up a conversation.

"What does it look like? Where are you working?" Colin asked. Maybe he could get that interview with Harry done.

"I've been working wherever, bouncing from one job to another. But I think I'm about to settle down and work at a place my dad owns - you know, the bookstore," Joey responded. Joey's father had been one of the editors of The Daily Prophet before buying a bookstore.

"Oh," Colin said. "Well, I've got to run. I have an interview," Colin said. Joey nodded.

"Oh, cool. Hey, we'll do lunch?" But it was too late. Colin was out the door.

* * *

The East Offices - yes, that was it. It was a bright, hot sunny morning in July. Colin Creevey wiped the sweat of his brow and opened the sliding door. He checked his watch - it was half past three, or about. He didn't have forever to sit and stare to determine the exact time.

The doors opened - as was expected of a door - Colin found himself inside one of the most magnificent rooms he had ever seen. It wasn't that the room itself was magnificent - though it truly was - it was the atmosphere that surrounded Colin. The place was quiet - almost perfect - but he could tell the people that were there were serious about everything they were doing. Not that it mattered. He had to find Harry Potter.

Perhaps there was some type of map to help him find Harry Potter. He looked around the room. It might look like some type of plaque...there,

he found one!

No, that wasn't it. It was just something commemorating the building. He guessed he would have to find Potter on his own.

He ran through the crowded group, trying to get to one of the elaborate staircases. He was bumped by just too many people. He bounced from one rail to another, and he got one heck of a headache.

He finally reached the top. He was exhausted, out of breath, and had a heck of a headache. This was where all the offices would be - or so he figured.

So he ran down the hall corridors, looking for Harry Potter's name on one of the placards on a door. There was no Harry Potter in any office on the right side.

Thus, he checked the left. Still nothing. What was going on? Perhaps Potter was in an unmarked office, yes, that was it.

"Excuse me," he asked a man walking by, "where is Harry Potter's office?" The other man looked at Colin.

"What do you mean? Harry Potter doesn't work here," the man said. Colin could only stare at the other.

"I got a letter from Harry today, telling me to meet him here," Colin said, handing the other the letter. The other man nearly ripped it from Colin's hand.

"My name's Scott Ridley," the man said, smiling at Colin. Colin glared at Scott. Colin thought he recognized the name for an instance. Nah, it couldn't be.

"Colin Creevey." Colin shook the smiling man's hand. The man still smiled.

"Who do you work for?" asked Scott. Colin was about to ask Scott that same question, but he figured the answer was pretty obvious: the Ministry.

How correct he was.

"Daily Prophet," Colin said. "I'm the main reporter on the race." Scott nodded approvingly.

"I work for the Ministry," Scott said. Colin had been right.

Almost.

"Here?" Colin asked.

"Follow me," Scott said. Scott led Colin through a secret door - nobody noticed this secret door - and into a room.

"You can leave whenever you would like to, but I do advise you to sit down," Scott said. There was another man sitting at the table. This table was rather small, and Colin took his seat.

"I'm Tom Hanks," the man said, shaking Colin's hand. Wait a moment - Colin had heard these names before. Well, at least Tom Hanks.

"Who are you guys? Come on, I've caught on to this little game," Colin said. "Tom Hanks is this movie star that also directs and Scott Ridley - I mean Ridley Scott - is a director as well. He just came out with this new Muggle movie: Gladiator," Colin said. The man known as Scott Ridley smiled.

"Your knowledge impresses me. It's rare we find a wizard with your knowledge," Scott said. Colin smiled.

"Thank you. I'm sure you pulled off this stunt on other people with Steven Spielberg's name and George Lucas's, too," Colin said.

"No, we definitely didn't," responded Tom - known to Jack Darby as Steven Spielberg.

"Sure," Colin said. Tom's face straightened.

"I'd like to ask you some questions," he said. Colin groaned.

"Let me ask you one first," Colin said. "Who are you really?" Colin had a feeling, but he wanted to see if he could drive it out of the two.

"I can't reveal my true name, but you can call me Alpha," Alpha - or Tom - said.

"I think I'd rather call you Tom," Colin said.

"Suit yourself," Tom said. "We'll just keep our old names. Colin squirmed in his seat a little.

"I am intimidating you?" Tom asked.

"Maybe," Colin said. Colin was making mental notes on this. "Where in the Ministry do you work?"

"I'm not at liberty to say," Tom said. Scott pulled his chair farther up to the table - it looked as if his stomach was about to be crushed. Colin knew who these guys were.

"You guys can tell me you are Sirs now," Colin said. Perhaps they were treating him carefully because he part of the press.

"Fine then; we are. Now we need to ask the cooperation of The Daily Prophet. Everything you hear us say if the truth, the beliefs of the Ministry," Scott said. Colin nodded.

"I understand."

"We believe someone is trying to control the election. They have already killed Zeus, and we believe they may strike again. There was an insider in the case, Jack Darby. He is dead." There was a pause as the two agents remembered their encounter.

"Why do you need our cooperation?" Colin asked.

"Look, we don't want you exaggerating at all when you report this story. Whether or not you report it, it's up to you," Tom said. "And as for Harry Potter, we don't know if he's here. This is our headquarters - keep that secret - but someone may have been playing some type of practical joke on you. I've met him before, and he would not write like that. Even if his head's a little inflated, I don't think he'd go that extreme."

A few minutes later, Colin walked out the secret room, a man bound to a promise that he would love to break. But he could not write any editorial, speculate in any form, or anything like that. Free speech was out the window. He had to get to his office...

* * *

Lucius Malfoy smiled. Merlin O'Brien smiled. The man looking back at them did not.

"What?" Lucius asked. There were at a customs office in a Muggle airport in Madrid. The Muggle looked at Lucius strangely. But Lucius was wearing Muggle clothing.

"Your passport, your visa," said the man, "where are they?" Lucius didn't understand - why couldn't they have just apparated? No, Merlin had to insist.

"What are you talking about?" They had just shown up at the gate to their plane, and it was definitely cramped in Heathrow - was that the name? Yes, it was.

"This is insane. You're under arrest," the Spanish man said. Lucius just shook his head. "Where are your identification cards?" God, Lucius thought.

"Just send us back to England," Merlin insisted. His first ride on an airplane, and look what happened! He would have to do more research next time he flew on a confounded Muggle machine. There was a ringing noise. Lucius cowered, while Merlin stayed still. "It's a telephone," he said to Lucius.

"A what?"

"Never mind. It's nothing to be scared of," Merlin said. Lucius didn't look too sure.

"Let's just apparate out of here," Lucius said. "This is stupid." And so they did.

Seconds later, the Spanish man turned around; and the two men he had been holding disappeared.

Thirty minutes later, there was an arrest warrant for the two unknown men.

* * *

Lucius and Merlin made their way outside the airport, wearing an invisibility cloak. They had picked up their bags before.

They looked for the Muggle limo that would carry them to their destination: a meeting with the heads of the struggling Pureblood Party of Spain. The Peoples' Party had taken a sixty percent lead in the polls; and though Spain did not have as many wizards as most countries, it was still something to worry about. The race was already close, and they didn't need it to get closer.

The long car came around the corner. The doors opened, a man walked out and looked around while Merlin and Lucius got in. Then the man stepped into the car, closed the door; and they were off.

"Welcome to Spain, Mister Malfoy, Mister O'Brien. We welcome your presence. But why did you travel by airplane?" said the man, whom Lucius and Merlin knew to be Anthony Gonzalez, the head of the Peoples' Party.

"Why are we in this confounded Muggle contraption?" asked Lucius. Anthony laughed.

"It's our only way of transport. You?"

"Don't look at me," Lucius said. "Look at him."

Merlin smiled.

"Ah, I see," Anthony said, laughing. He pointed to a small building. "That is where we shall go, friends."

The three men stepped out of the car, each dressed in Muggle business suits. Lucius and Merlin carried suitcases. They opened the door and were saved from the August heat by air conditioning. Thank goodness for Muggles, Merlin thought. No matter how despicable they are. He took off the jacket as they were led to a room to relax in.

"Please, feel free to sit and relax," said Anthony. He pointed to the bathroom. "You may change your clothes if you would like. I will see you in an hour." Lucius rolled his eyes as the door closed.

"That guy is strange. Do we really have to meet with the others, too?" Lucius complained. Merlin was a much better businessman; he knew how to deal with this.

"Look, just come on...we've got to do this," Merlin said. Lucius groaned.

"Who cares about the Spanish popular vote?"

"We do," Merlin said.

"I never raised my hand. Besides, we should be concentrating on the French vote. That's more important, and it's much closer," Lucius responded.

"The meetings won't last long. Trust me," Merlin said. An hour later they were led to a desk and greeted by Anthony and Antonio, his brother. Antonio helped him run the place.

"I hope your accommodations were satisfactory," Antonio said. Lucius began to open his mouth, but Merlin elbowed him.

"More than satisfactory," Merlin said.

"As you are aware, Duke Dingo has been gaining support throughout Spain. He has eighty percent in the polls," Anthony said.

"We would like to know if you want to drop out of the race in Spain. Technically, we can do that; but we cannot advise that. It could still hurt the close enough worldwide vote you have to put up with," Anthony continued. Merlin took this hard. Lucius could have cared less.

"That's it!" Lucius exploded. "You brought us to Spain for this! I'm leaving, getting my bags and going!" Lucius stormed out the room. Merlin agreed. This was a waste of time. They needed better management in Spain.

"I'm sorry," Merlin said. "But we've got an...uh...interview tomorrow with some press guys. Why don't you get with us another time?" Merlin, queasy and uneasy, left the room, following his friend. He no longer cared about Spain. The place itself was unorganized and a waste of his time. He grabbed his suitcase. Lucius was waiting.

"That was a complete waste of time," Lucius said.

"A disgrace to the Pureblood Party," Merlin said.

"Let's go home," Lucius said. The two apparated.

* * *

When they got to their offices, they were shocked to see Homer Lyte in a state of shock. He was holding an envelope in his left hand, a letter in his right.

"What?" Lucius asked.

"There's...a letter...here...in...my...hand...a death threat..."

Author's Note: Hate to leave you guys on the edge - AGAIN! I can't tell you when the next chapter will come out - it will either be VERY soon, or until late June, early July. (I'm leaving for summer camp.) Feel free to make your guesses, folks! I'm sorry this has taken so long to write, but they original plan was to wait until this was all done till I posted it. So, BE HAPPY! :-) Goodbye for now, hope you enjoyed!