Chapter 7

Politics

"Level 2 - Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

The doors opened, and Harry Potter exited the crowded lift. He wound his way through the mess of cubicles to his own, in the far back. Ron was already there, at his own desk in the large area they shared with two other Aurors. As Head of the Auror Office, Harry was entitled to his own private office, complete with door and privacy. However, he felt that being out in the main room with the rest of his Aurors not only gave them a better sense of camaraderie, but eased the flow of information. It was much easier for someone to simply shout to him across the room than to have to get up, go to his office door, and talk to him from there. So, his office sat unused, and he turned four cubicles into a sort of "command center," which he shared not only with Ron, but also his second-in-command, Arcturas Harmon, and another witch who was out on maternity leave.

"Hey, Harry."

"Morning, Ron. We get that report on those enchanted Muggle weapons?"

"Nothing yet. Arcturas is out picking that up, along with the first Hogwarts report of the year."

Ever since the war ended, the Ministry of Magic had been keeping tabs on the goings-on at Hogwarts. They had a strict no-interaction policy, but they received regular reports on things such as what students were in what Houses, a report of injuries, and discipline records. As instances of Dark Magic were few and far between these days, the Auror office had been placed in charge of determining what information was worth making note of. Most of the reports went straight in the trash after reading, but they occasionally found something of interest. The first report of the year was usually the only interesting one, as they cross-referenced relatives of known Dark wizards with the incoming student list. In theory, it was supposed to help determine which student were at risk for corruption by the Dark Arts. In actuality, it just helped calm the mass fear and anger that had swept the nation when parents learned what their children had been through at Hogwarts during Voldemort's brief reign, at the hands of teachers and students alike. These days, it was rare for a student with any direct familial connection to Death Eaters to be found at Hogwarts; however, Harry knew of at least one that would be starting this year.

As Harry was opposed to the idea of branding eleven year old kids as potential Dark wizards, all the notes went straight into a locked drawer on his desk, not to be seen by anyone outside of the department. Whenever they got a discipline report involving dark magic at Hogwarts (which only happened every few years), Harry would dutifully check the names on the list to see if they matched up. They never did, and so the Ministry continued the pointless charade, and the public felt safer.

"We got a letter from Al this morning," Harry told Ron. "He said he and Rose are both in Gryffindor, and they're enjoying themselves. And guess what? They're opening up Quidditch spots to first years!" Harry laughed. "He's so excited. Have you heard from Rose?"

Ron raised an eyebrow at Harry. "Yeah, we got a letter late last night. Al didn't tell you about what happened on the boat ride across the lake?"

Harry was puzzled. "No, what happened?"

"Wow, I thought he would've told you. It was storming, and Al fell into the lake. The boat in front of them capsized, and Malfoy's kid almost drowned, but apparently Albus saved him. From Rose's letter, it was pretty wild."

Harry was dumbfounded. "Why didn't he tell us? All he did was talk about Quidditch, the Sorting Hat, and a couple of Slytherins he thought were trouble."

"Wait, the Sorting Hat? What Slytherins?"

"Apparently, the charm on the Sorting Hat is starting to unravel. It told Al to come and talk to it again." He raised an eyebrow at Ron.

"Well, I can't blame it. It's a hat, after all, it can't be that exciting of a life. And I hear it's not the only one at Hogwarts whose 'spell is unraveling.' Apparently, Filch is pretty much certifiable, and Madam Hooch is starting to lose it, a little."

"Madam Hooch? Really? She's not even that old, she's only, what, eighty? Eighty-five?"

"Neville said something about a history of it in her family. Now, what's this about Slytherins? Not Malfoy's kid, I take it?"

"No." Harry frowned. "Do you remember hearing about that couple in Romania who killed all those people a few years back? Took about a dozen Aurors to bring them down?"

"Yeah, what was their name - Slayer? Thought it was an interesting name, given the circumstances..."

"Close. Slair. Well, apparently they've got a pair of twins going there. He didn't say much about them, but he said Hagrid showed them an old article about their parents."

"Why would Hagrid do that? Something must've happened to prompt him, he knows better than that."

"That's what I figured. I was going to send Hagrid an owl and ask what happened."

Albus leaned back in his chair. From what he remembered, the Slairs had walked into a Muggle Office building and started firing Killing Curses without so much as a warning. They escaped before the Aurors could get there, and led them on a chase for the next few months. They would turn up every now and again, kill a few wizards or Muggles, and then disappear. The Romanian and Transylvania Aurors eventually cornered them and put up anti-Disapparition wards. The two Slairs hadn't gone down without a fight, however, and took out a few Aurors before they were finally killed themselves.

Harry stood up. "I'm going to go pull their file."

"Who?"

"The Slairs. Just to refresh my memory."

He walked over to the rows of filing cabinets stacked all the way up to the ceiling, and reached for a clipboard attached to the side of one of the cabinets. The search system was his own brainchild, and he was quite proud of it (although, he admitted, it was very similar to Muggle computer search systems). Fed up with looking through endless cabinets looking for various reports, he had suggested they make it so the cabinets did the searching, themselves. It had taken a long time to get all the various files in the entire office registered, but now, the time needed to find an old record was shortened to almost nothing - as long as the files were where they were supposed to be.

He dipped a quill in a nearby ink well, and wrote on the parchment attached to the clipboard, "Slair." He watched as a long list of reports appeared, the first one being "Slair Killings, 2006-2007." He put a small checkmark next to the name, and watched as a cabinet halfway down the middle aisle opened, and a purple file folder floated out. He smiled to himself, put the clipboard back, and went to collect the file.

Back at his desk, he flipped through the thick folder, full of grisly photographs and graphic descriptions of the events that had unfolded. Words and phrases such as "unyielding," "slaughter," and "showed no mercy" popped out at him. After the adult Slairs had been killed, the two children were sent to live with a distant cousin and his wife in southern Britain. The couple taken the children into their home, despite never having met their parents, or in fact, knowing they existed. As far as Harry could tell, the Slair twins had grown up in a loving, supportive household. He frowned. I wonder why Albus was asking about them.

"Well, hello, mates." His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Arcturas Harmon. The second-in-command of the Auror office was a tall, silver-haired gentleman in his mid fifties. He and Harry had had some problems when Harry had first joined the Auror's department. Harmon had felt that Harry, who had completed the Auror program a year early, was not fully prepared for everything the job entailed. Over the years, however, Harry had proven himself, and earned Harmon's trust and appreciation. When Harry was named Head of the Auror Office, it had disgruntled several longer-tenured Aurors. Harmon had backed him up, and Harry had shown his appreciation and trust in the older man by naming him his second.

"Hey, Arcturas. You get those reports?"

"Of course. You're going to have to wait to go through them, though. Ratchet wants a word with you."

Harry sighed. Augustus Ratchet had been named the Minister of Magic two years ago, when Kingsley Shacklebolt retired after a celebrated fifteen year career in the position. While Ratchet had the good sense not to mess with anything on a large scale that didn't need messing with, he was always trying to micromanage everything that went on in the Ministry. The last time he had been called to his office, it was over the seating arrangements in the Auror office. The time before that, he had wanted to know if they should change the color of the robes the Aurors wore in public. Harry had tried to be polite in informing him that the way the Auror office was set up was the most efficient way they could arrange it, and that nobody really cared what color the Auror robes were, since they hardly ever wore them, anyway.

"What's it about this time? Standardizing the amount of toilet paper we can use?"

Ron laughed as Harmon smiled and shrugged. "Beats me. He got on the lift at the fourth level, and his robes were smoking, so I reckon it's probably got something to do with something that breathes fire."

Harry sighed and looked at Ron. "Doesn't your father tell him he doesn't need to be on top of everyone all the time?" Arthur Weasley had served in the post of Advisor to Minister for the past fifteen or so years. The previous advisor had decided it was better for her not to be an advisor to the man she had become engaged to. She had stepped down, married Kingsley, and Arthur had taken the job when it was offered.

"He tries, but you know Ratchet. He always has to be doing something, and when he doesn't have something to do, he invents something that needs doing. And it has to be done his way, because he's the Minister, don't ya know." Ron didn't think much of Ratchet.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Alright. Can you two look through these papers and see if there's anything even remotely important?"

Harmon shook his head. "No can do. I have to go meet my counterpart from the French Auror's office, remember? The Portkey leaves in ten minutes. Sorry."

Ron groaned. "I guess it's on me, then."

"Would you like to trade?"

Ron laughed. "No, definitely not. Have fun."

"Level One: Office of the Minister of Magic."

Harry stepped off the lift and into a large, round waiting room. The secretary at the desk looked up and smiled. "One moment, Mr. Potter, I'll see if the Minister is ready." Harry nodded and looked at the various portraits on the walls as the secretary knocked on the Minister's door. He ought to be ready, he just called for me five minutes ago. "Go on in, Mr. Potter." He gave the pretty blonde woman a polite smile as he entered the office (which was thankfully devoid of any fire breathing creatures), and found himself face to face with Augustus Ratchet.

The Minister of Magic was a older man, with gentle features and an unassuming appearance. Harry knew that the kindly old man look was a political face, however, and behind the shallow wrinkles and gray hair was a shrewd and calculating man who had not landed himself the position of Minister in as noble a fashion as Kingsley. "Ah, Harry! It's a pleasure to see you!" Harry noticed the use of his first name, and surmised that this was a call asking for a favor, as opposed to a call to complain about toilet paper regulations.

"You too, Minister."

"How're Ginny and the kids? Albus is starting his classes today, isn't he?"

"Yes, sir. In fact, we just got the Hogwarts report in a few moments ago, and I'm looking forward to reading it." Harry was hoping his hinting was getting across, and like a true politician, Ratchet picked up on it.

"Then I won't keep you long. I need a favor, Harry."

Right on one, Harry thought. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"One of your Aurors has a few connections with the Spanish Ministry, correct?"

Harry paused. "Amelia Cortes. Her father used to be the Ambassador to their Ministry, and she grew up over there. Went to school at Pico Dobre. Most of the Department heads there knew her when she was a little girl."

"Perfect. I've gotten myself into a spot of trouble with the Head of their Department of International Relations. I'm afraid my Spanish isn't as good as it used to be. I was hoping she could come with me on my next trip and help me smooth matters out."

Harry hesitated. This was an unusually trivial reason for the Minister to call him to his office, even by Ratchet's standards. Surely it could've been handled through a memo. "Actually, sir, I'm afraid not. She's on maternity leave right now, and she's due any day now."

"Oh, that is unfortunate. I guess I'll have to improve my Spanish, eh?" The Minister chuckled.

"Sorry, I couldn't be of more help, sir." Ratchet's eyes lit up, and Harry mentally kicked himself as he realized what had just happened.

"That's quite okay, Mr. Potter." Harry noted the change in title. "I actually have another matter to address."

Of course you do. "Yes, sir?"

Ratchet shifted in his chair and lowered his eyes. Harry recognized it as part of an act he had seen many times before, right before someone would say something they knew would not go over well. "You see, there are two children of people suspected to have been Death Eaters starting at Hogwarts this year. Now, they were never convicted, but they know the public's opinion about them. They have agreed to make a generous donation to St. Mungo's, if we keep their children's background as quiet as we can."

Harry gave a mental sigh. "Minister, we never release that information. It goes in a locked box in the back of the bottom drawer of my desk, you know that."

"I understand, but they would just like to make sure that absolutely nobody sees it who doesn't need to."

Harry nodded. "Of course, sir. What are their names?"

"Ah - Draco Malfoy's son, Scorpius," Figures, Harry thought. " - and Randolph Parker's daughter, Isabel."

Harry nodded.

The Minister smiled. "Good! Thank you, Harry. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to draft a letter to the President of the World Quidditch Federation. We're lobbying to get the World Cup again for 2022." He tipped Harry an enormous wink. "It's looking good."

Harry smiled. "Of course."

As he left, he dropped the smile. He should have noticed the Minister's game earlier. He was willing to bet that Ratchet knew that Amelia Cortes was out on leave. He had asked for a favor he knew Harry couldn't deliver on, to soften the real reason he had been called in: To fulfill the Minister's promise of money for favors.

"I hate politics," he said to the empty lift.

As he walked back across the Auror office, he tried to remember what he could about Randolph Parker. He had been a Ministry employee who joined up with the Death Eaters after the take over of the Ministry in 1997. At his trial, he claimed he had been blackmailed into serving Voldemort. He had been acquitted, despite the two witnesses who had seen him cackling with glee as he fired curses at the Battle of Hogwarts. They had been short on guards for Azkaban at the time, and the Wizengamot had let a few low profile characters get away. Harry suddenly remembered why he knew the name so well. A few years after being acquitted, Randolph Parker had taken a bride much younger than himself in Pansy Parkinson. "Figures," he muttered to himself.

His thoughts were interrupted once again as he got back to his desk. "Harry! Did you hear me?"

"Er - No, sorry, Ron. What's going on?"

"What did Ratchet want?"

Harry shook his head. "Scorpius Malfoy isn't the only Death Eater offspring starting at Hogwarts this year. One Isabel Parker, also known as Pansy Parkinson's daughter, is also there now. Malfoy and Pansy's husband 'generously' donated a pile of Galleons to St. Mungo's to make sure we don't out their kids. Figures, doesn't it? Twenty years later, now our kids are going to have to put up with those two."

Ron raised an eyebrow at him. "Malfoy and Parker were the only ones who came forward?"

"Yeah, why?"

"There's a third student in their year who's the child of a Death Eater."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Really? Who?"

Ron handed him the documents. "Right there. And Harry," he paused, looking uncertain. "They're in Gryffindor."