Warning: Harry has a moment in his scene with Severus Snape that could be considered a symptom of Depression/PTSD, in Amelia's scene there is a brief description of death, and Rita's mentions briefly child-death. All-around cheery chapter, frankly.
Milli grabbed a last bite before standing up. A bracelet of pale opals and tiny diamonds circled one wrist, matching the Bulstrode Heir's ring on her left hand. She hadn't made a fuss of receiving either. "Come on, we have to hurry and take our things back to our dorms or we'll be late for Potions. I heard Snape will hate you for years if you come to his class late during the first two weeks. Those are supposed to be the most important."
The former Gryffindors, older and younger, shared a look. Well, that explained a lot.
A mad dash to stow their belongings and make it to the classroom on time followed this revelation. However, upon arriving, they found the door locked. Even less pleasant was the sight of Hermione Granger leaning against it, avidly reading a potions book. Draco recognized it as being in no way meant for a first-year. In fact, Severus had barely allowed him access to it in his seventh-year. The potions inside were volatile and dangerous, but the ingredient descriptions were second-to-none. No wonder the little bitch could answer any question thrown her way the first time around, he thought bitterly.
However, Draco did note that she was barely a chapter in yet, and nowhere near the glossary. He smirked; this could be interesting.
"Well, if it isn't the lone lion," Pansy sniped. "How does it feel to be the only Gryffindor?"
Hermione put her nose in the air and ignored Pansy. Instead, she set her eyes on the returned Slytherins and walked toward them. "I heard you lot are the best in our grade, so far."
"The teachers are planning on letting us take more advance classes," Seamus bragged, his smile more to show off his teeth than to express his pride.
The bushy-haired bitch looked at him enviously before giving herself a mental shake. She smiled back at Seamus. "Well, I plan on being the best in Potions," she declared.
Dean's mouth nearly dropped, while the others had to bite their tongues to hide their laughter. Draco, who would one day create a painless and permanent Wolfsbane alternative (while on the run), snorted derisively. As fucking if, he thought venomously.
Lavender cleared her throat to hide her disbelieving giggles. "Good for you."
"Maybe if you need tutoring in Potions, I could help you." Hermione offered, eyes full of arrogance. "We could study together! You'll definitely need all the help you can get, so just ask me."
Draco gagged slightly. Blaise put a comforting hand on his back, watching in dismay as the girl prattled on.
"I've also been reading up on the Old-Ways ever since I heard about your unfortunate family troubles, Ronald. I thought I might be able to help. Divorce can be so confusing," she added, blinking her lashes at him. Ron glared, resisting the urge to go for his wand only by the skin of his teeth. Beside him, Harry took a step forward, followed by his once-soldiers. Neville narrowed his eyes and let his hand go to his wand. Who did this bitch think she was?
Unaware of the tension, Hermione Granger continued digging her grave. "I find them quite barbaric, actually; what with all this marriage contract nonsense, but I've become quite knowledgeable on them. Did you hear that the Board of Governors is trying to reinstate Old-Ways classes? Dumbledore is fighting them, of course. Such blood-supremacist propaganda shouldn't be taught to a population that mostly muggle-raised, after all. As a muggle-born, I find it all highly offensive, but if the classes do go through, I promise to help you with them. With all the reading I've done, I really do think I will be the most knowledgeable," she said smugly.
Looking around at the growing rage on the faces of the first year court, Tracy, Milli, Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle began to back away. The audacity this girl had! Pansy swallowed, taking a position behind Crabbe and Goyle, who were looking on with their mouths gapping. Pansy tugged Tracy with her, while Milli gingerly made her way to stand beside Susan.
Susan smiled at her, apparently pleased to see Milli standing with them, and Milli grinned back. Milli had never been the best at magic but even her father admitted she was good in a fight. Like Grandmother Mansfield said, spells were well and good – but so was a square shot to the nose.
Milli cracked her knuckles. Grandmother had always said Milli had a gifted punch.
Then a small blue dragon landed on her shoulder. "The professor is around the corner," Smurf murmured, "Hold you fire." Smothering a grin, Milli nodded. The stuffy bopped its head and flew back to Ron, whose bag was open for it to return to.
As if that were a cue, Neville laughed loudly in Hermione's face. The others in the court stared blankly at her for a moment, incredulous, before turning to each other and chatting. Milli watched from the corner of her eye as Hermione Granger was ignored as though she had never said anything at all. The girl's face turned viciously red and she ducked her head to hide her expression.
"Thank-you for standing with us, Milli," Susan said softly, letting the louder conversations absorb theirs.
Milli blushed. "It was nothing, really. We didn't even come to blows."
Susan looked over her shoulder, where Pansy and Tracey were just creeping out from behind Crabbe and Goyle. "Still, we won't forget this. It's this sort of thing that shows a person's true colors, after all."
Just then, Professor Snape strode down the hall, black robes billowing behind him. The first-years fell silent, shuffling into a line as if by instinct. When the door creaked open, they flooded in behind the professor with nervous expressions.
However, it was only the returned who feared for more than their grades.
Potions lessons took place, once again, down in one of the dungeons. It was still colder here than up in the main castle and it still would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars on shelves all around the walls. In short, Neville was already eager to be back in Herbology, where the sun actually shone. Please, he thought, let's not make this worse by having to deal with the old Snape again. Please!
However, Neville hadn't noticed any changes in the course of events yet. Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call and just like before, he paused at Harry's name. "Ah, Yes," Snape said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new — celebrity."
Harry restrained a grimace. We were so close, he thought morosely. If Amelia, Remus, Narcissa, and Lucius are back, why isn't Severus?
Fucking fate.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," Snape began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper but they caught every word — Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort.
"As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Ron and Neville exchanged concerned looks, while Hermione Granger sat on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.
"Granger!" Snape snapped suddenly. "Since you are claiming to be the best in your year, what is the first ingredient you need for the Polyjuice potion?"
Granger looked confused. "Sir, that wasn't in the first-year Potions book –"
"A point from Gryffindor," Snape sneered. "I did not ask that, Miss Granger. Can you or can you not tell me what is the first ingredient you would need for the Polyjuice Potion?"
"No, Professor." She looked down.
"Thought so," Snape's lip curled. "Potter! What is the answer?"
"Twelve lacewing flies that should be stewed for twenty-one days," Harry answered, resisting the urge to smile. Old knowledge died hard, apparently.
"Two points to Slytherin!" Snape turned his attention back to Hermione. "Granger, what can armadillo bile be used in? Hint, Granger: you will need it."
"I don't know, I –"
Not waiting for her to continue her defense, Snape carried on. "Thomas, what is the answer?"
"Wit-Sharpening Potion, professor."
"Granger! Name an ingredient in Shrinking Solution."
Hermione face was turning redder. "Sir! That's not in the first-year text!"
Snape didn't seem to care. "No answer to be found with you, then. Greengrass, answer the question."
"Caterpillars, sir."
Snape nodded and turned to look at the only Gryffindor. "This is how it is going to work. Granger, since you seem to believe being the best in Potions is just about what you know, I will ask a series of questions to the class. Any who know the answer will raise their hand so I may call on them. If you are correct, you will receive a point. If you don't know the answer, don't raise your hand. Understood?"
The class echoed a 'Yes, sir.' The non-Slytherin returned all shot each other considering looks. Could this be how Snape acted when he was around his Slytherins or was this a sign he actually was a returned? Harry tried to catch Draco's eye but his cousin's face was infuriatingly blank.
"Granger," Snape continued. "After you see exactly how limited you are, maybe you will lose your arrogant know-it-all attitude. Let's begin: I will start with the middle of first-year questions."
Surprisingly, Hermione hadn't memorized that far. However, to the surprise of many, Crabbe and Goyle had. It was them who answered questions back and forth, though all of the other students (besides Hermione) had raised their hands.
"Moving on to second-year questions," Snape droned, apparently uninterested in the proceedings. "What is in the Confusing and Befuddlement Draught?"
Everyone but Hermione raised their hand. Snape called on Tracy. "Sneezewort, scurvy-grass, and lovage, sir."
"What can daisy roots be used for? Crabbe!"
"Shrinking Solution!"
"Name one ingredient in the Draught of Peace, Weasley!"
"Hellebore, sir."
Snape nodded and continued. As he began the third-year questions, Granger was the only one out.
"What is the main ingredient in a basic boil-cure potion? Bones."
"Horned slugs."
After several more questions with all but one trying to answer, Snape was feeling quite proud of his little snakes. "On to fourth-year."
Half-way through the fourth-year questions, Pansy found she could no longer answer; however, she was quite pleased with herself nonetheless. Tracy went down next, followed by Milli, Dean, Seamus, and Lavender during the first part of the fifth-year questions. Parvati, Harry, and Daphne fell in the third potion of fifth-year, with Ron not far behind. Theo, Susan, and Blaise made it to the beginning of sixth.
Neville, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle went head-to-head for the remainder of the sixth-year questions. Neville had a slight advantage: his herbology background made questions based on plants and what potions they were used for easy. Thinking back, Ron reckoned they shouldn't have been too surprised by Crabbe and Goyle, either. As the founders of the C&G Potions Company, their fathers had a monopoly on the ingredient market. They had probably picked up all this up while training to inherit the business.
To the surprise of no one, least of all the returned, Draco was the overall winner. He only dropped the ball a quarter of the way into seventh year. Being a potions master in the future, he could have gone through seventh and beyond, but he wasn't willing to tip his godfather off to something strange if the man hadn't, in fact, returned.
"I am impressed," Snape pronounced, in the same manner one might a death sentence. "Seventy well-deserved points to Slytherin. Nicely done." Snape gave them all a look that they assumed was his best approximation of approval. They smiled back proudly.
"Granger!" Snape growled, turning on her like a viper. "I hope this scene will stay lodged in your mind. Remember that you are not superior just because you memorized the first semester of the first-year."
Granger looked down, angry with Professor Snape and herself. She could feel the jealously bubbling up inside her. It just wasn't fair! How could she be the worst in the class by entire grade-levels?
"Seeing as nearly all of you have knowledge to at least fourth-year, you will each be given the second-year aptitude written test along with the practical portion. If you pass with an Outstanding, I will talk with the headmaster about moving you to a more advance Potions class. Before you leave this classroom, you will know you grade."
Hermione raised her hand, "Will I be taking the test as well, Professor?"
"That is entirely up to you, Granger," Snape snarled over his shoulder.
Hermione wilted at his tone but overall brightened at the idea of seeing where her aptitude level was in Potions class. At least then she could hold that over the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs. "I would like to, Professor."
Snape shook his head. He didn't have to read Granger's mind to know just what she was thinking. "Very well. I'll need to remind myself to give the same aptitude test to the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs." He cast a considering look at his strangely large Slytherin class, hiding his own smirk as he said, "It is only fair, after all."
Harry felt relief course through his blood, barely resisting a decidedly Gryffindor-ish cheer. There it was! The sign that their Severus Snape was back!
The Snape during this time period hadn't given a flying fuck about being fair as long as he was content. He was damaged, worn-down, and bound by a manipulative old man. The Severus Snape standing before the returned first-years was a less bitter, gentler version. A version that existed in the future only after a bloody war and a hard-won freedom.
Having regular screw sessions with his husband had probably helped, too.
After shooting a wave of covert smiles at each other, the gang turned back to their professor. Severus handed out the tests, purposely not meeting the eyes of his students, before returning to the front of the room.
"You have two and half hours," he murmured. "Begin."
"I am happy, albeit inconceivably stunned, to say that all but one among you have managed to perform Outstandingly on this test. Congratulations." Snape gave a long, sarcastic clap. "I will speak to the headmaster at my earliest convenience. Now, get out!" As the students rushed for the door, Snape called: "Mr. Potter, remain behind."
Harry froze but gestured for the other first-years to keep going. Snape closed the door with a spell and locked it.
Turning on his heel, Harry grinned winningly. "Sev, I –"
"Sit."
Harry returned to his seat with a glum expression on his face. Well, there went that plan. It only worked with Sirius in the room, anyway.
Sirius… Harry winced. Hehad been trying to avoid thoughts of Sirius until he knew for sure his godfather was safe, but Severus being back had to be a good sign, right? And Amelia was on the case. She would make sure Sirius was safe, regardless. Right?
Unlike you, a nasty voice whispered. Too hopped up on love potions to notice your ex-wife murdering your family. Pathetic. It's a wonder they can stand you.
Biting his lip, Harry shoved those thoughts away. He had been doing so well lately, barely even an episode of insomnia to bother him. He wasn't going to let all of that slip because of one bad little voice. Besides, Harry thought, one problem at a time.
Severus stood in front of his desk, staring down at Harry accusingly. Harry grimaced at the other man's crossed arms. Uh oh.
"Are you going to explain to me," Severus started sibilantly, "what you did to make it so we came to be back in time, Harry? Keep in mind, I'm not angry about this situation."
"How do you know it was my fault?"
"IT'S ALWAYS YOUR FAULT!"
Harry grinned. Well, he supposed he couldn't argue with that.
The Minister for Magic's office was, in a word, imposing. The cathedral ceiling was held up by white Roman columns, tapestries of wizarding greatness hanging between each pair. A rich oak desk took up much of the back of the room, with two ornate, uncomfortable wingbacks set before it. The marble floors were lousy with intricate carpeting and artwork and artifacts peered from any number of podiums and shelves. The walls were dark, rich plum and every piece of hardware was golden. However, the Minister's chair was frankly Merlin-sent and for that Amelia Bones would forgive the office that housed it quite a lot.
Sometimes, Amelia could barely believe she was here. There were mornings she found herself walking to the DMLE offices as though nothing had ever changed; as though she hadn't become a vicious, cutthroat creature of politics. As if she weren't prepared to be worse, if that was what it took. Then the memories would bite her, their poison bleeding into every moment of her day. She would see Susan and Terry all dressed up, the weight of her own navy dress robes heavy on her shoulders. She would remember teasing tall, tall Terry about how squished he would be in the back of the fancy Ministry-issued car.
Amelia closed her eyes, letting the chair take her full weight. They had been attending a gala for St. Mungo's. Susan had been schmoozing for more funding for the infant's wing and Terry, as Minister Shacklebolt's Senior Undersecretary, had been attending for both his wife and the good press. Amelia had come because it was the polite thing to do and certainly not because it was just the sort of event a certain someone could be found at.
They had been returning home when Amelia had noticed something strange with the driver. He was blank-faced, almost unresponsive. She had realized that he had been imperio'd just a second too late.
Her last memory was turning to see Susan, hanging upside-down in the seat behind her, long stems of blood flowing into her scarlet hair. Then the car had exploded.
Amelia grit her teeth, eyes flying open. She would do anything to keep that image from tainting her new reality. The first step, regrettably, had been swallowing her reluctance and becoming Minister. Shacklebolt was just fine in the future but he was a kind man. She knew that he wouldn't have the lack of conscience to move as fast as she wanted. With Narcissa spearing him, perhaps – but Amelia didn't have the time to take that chance. Her political enemies and allies had never even seen her coming and by the time they did, she was already in the chair.
Cornelius Fudge would be in prison for embezzlement by the end of the month and for a slew of war crimes, Bartemius Crouch Senior would soon be joining him. Highest on his list of sins was the false imprisonment of Lord Sirius Black, who had been released into the care of his remaining family – Narcissa Black-Malfoy. Peter Pettigrew would be tried and Kissed by Tuesday– she already had a unit dispatched to retrieve the rat from Severus Snape, who had 'discovered' the bastard in Ronald Weasley's pocket. She was galled to admit that Lucius Malfoy had been an invaluable ally in her warpath but Amelia figured she had thanked him well enough. She had all but given him the Hogwarts' Board of Governors, after all. With connections made there, she was confident that he would have the House of Lords by the short hairs in no time. In return, by the next election Amelia was confident that her temporary appointment would be an official one.
A knock at the door brought Amelia from her thoughts. "Are you busy, Minister?"
Amelia waved her hand, opening the door to allow her Senior Undersecretary in. "Not at all, Dolores."
Umbridge closed the door behind her. "I'm here to speak about the Magical Children's Act."
Amelia nodded and straightened, refusing to a run a weary hand through her auburn hair. She had been dreading this conversation but knew that it had to happen eventually. Put forth by Lucius Malfoy, the Magical Children's Act would ensure that no magical child, muggleborn or otherwise, would be allowed to live with muggles who refused to meet numerous conditions. According to Lucius' opening remark, it was inspired by the "hateful" mistreatment of his newly-reclaimed nephew, Harry Potter.
The Act would all but erase muggleborns, forcing muggle parents to include wizarding schooling and traditions in their child's life. If the parent didn't, couldn't, or wouldn't, the Act gave the Ministry power to remove the child. Any allegations of abuse or neglect, physical, mental, or emotional, would also be grounds for removal. Muggle parents would be vetted with extreme prejudice, made to attend classes about the Wizarding World, and be checked up upon regularly. It wasn't on par with genocide, or even prejudiced separation from the Muggle World, but it still felt like going up to the pureblood supremacists and saying, "I'm sorry, you were right."
"It has my support. I am fully behind it," Amelia bit out. If she had to look Lucius Malfoy in the eye and shake his hand over it, she would scream. Political bedfellows they may be – hopefully temporarily – but she swore she would never like the smug prick.
Ignorant of Amelia's bitter feelings, the smile on Umbridge's face widened. "Excellent choice, Minister. The next move will be to set up care for the little darlings, of course. I don't expect the home will be full long, though. If the dear, sweet children are half as lovely as my Olivia, they will all be adopted in short order. Why, did you know that just yesterday her accidental magic turn my entire living room pink? It was adorable!"
Amelia nearly groaned as Umbridge babbled on about her daughter, one of the first to be reclaimed from "improper" muggle parents. The tiny, pixie-like child had curbed nearly all of Umbridge's vicious qualities but her blathering was still a price to pay.
"Yet," Umbrige cut herself off, lips pulling into a moue of disapproval, "There is one small hindrance to the act. Dumbledore."
Amelia narrowed her eyes. Dumbledore. If there was ever a man she disliked more than Malfoy Senior, it was Dumbledore. Even in her last life, Amelia had disliked his pushy, manipulative nature. Suspecting what she did now, very little had kept her from abusing her position and ordering a hit. Instead, Amelia had taken great pleasure in removing him from power as Chief Warlock.
"Dumbledore has little political pull," she said with relish. A few well-placed, Malfoy-spawned rumours and an article form Rita Skeeter, bless her, had taken care of that. "He is no longer a problem."
Umbridge shook her head, "He may no longer be head of anything, but he is still the Leader of the Light. The Light will follow his commands and he is against the act."
Amelia restrained a sigh. Of course Dumbledore would be against it and of course his sheeple would follow him. This is why I'm neutral, Amelia thought. This Light and Dark nonsense is a pain in the ass.
This wasn't the first act Light views were threatening, either. The Creature and Dark Arts Amendments were also fighting Light bias, as well as the Education Amendment. In Amelia's opinion, all three actions were dearly needed. The Creature Amendment would provide rights to all sentient humanoid creatures, giving them access to services they had never had before: blood banks, health care, welfare, education, and more. They would be treated like ordinary citizens, as long as they agreed to never inform the muggles (sans their mates and in emergency circumstances) about the magical world.
The Dark Arts Amendment would reverse discriminatory laws set in place by the Light against the Dark. Many Dark traditions and practices would be legalized along with books, heirlooms, and techniques. Magical children would be exposed to both kinds of magic, allowing them to expand and advance their cores. Many of these corrections were also seen in the Education Amendment, which would have Hogwarts bring back all the old courses various Light headmasters had removed over the years. Healing, Etiquette, and Languages were just a few.
Already, the terrifying Fenrir Greyback, Werewolf Britain's Chief-Alpha, had come forward to offer his approval of the terms set by Creature Amendment. It was the first time anyone had seen him in close to a decade. Amelia would have taken it as a hint that he had returned but upon meeting him she had found that sadly false.
The Fenrir Greyback who had come to sign a treaty with her was no less feral than the one who had joined Voldemort. Merely, she had offered him a better deal than the semi-dead Dark Lord. He was still a man willing to resort to child-cruelty and terrorism to carve out any scrap of respect for his persecuted people he could. However, even without the humanity awakened by Bill Weasley, Amelia had found that she could understand him perfectly. The thought both awed and repulsed her.
Yet, she had negotiated a treaty between them. If the Creature Amendment went through, Wizarding Britain never need to fear a werewolf again.
If she could just get the thrice-damned thing passed.
Amelia fingered her wand in thought before smiling. "We will have to put Rita on it. She will make it so that the pureblood elite think that they are taking over while putting guilt in the hearts of the Light. Knowing Rita, our problems will be over by the holidays." Amelia paused for a moment before adding, "We will also need her to release an announcement about my appointment. I haven't even had the time to inform my own niece yet."
Umbridge nodded firmly. She couldn't help but be glad that there was finally a competent minister in office. "Things have been going so quickly, Minister. It is a wonder they're as smooth as they are. I'll send a letter immediately."
Amelia hesitated but then nodded. This needed to be done quickly; she could pen Rita on her own time.
Umbridge left the room soon after, leaving Amelia feeling oddly maudlin. Reaching into one of the desk's hidden drawers, she removed a bottle of Firewhiskey and an emerald-studded tumbler. Oddly, both were congratulatory presents from one Ms. Skeeter.
Amelia smiled softly. Cheers to me, she thought, and let herself relax to the burn of the alcohol, the best bloody turncoat in all of Britain.
Rita Skeeter sat behind her desk, reading a letter from the Minister's Senior Undersecretary, Madame Umbridge. Once upon a time, she would have risked Azkaban to get her hands on dirt like this. Now, it came addressed to her – how positively naughty! Who knew that being Editor and Chief of the Daily Prophet would be such a lark? And to think, all it had taken was some creative blackmail and an oath to print the truth.
The oath had annoyed her, at first. However, Rita was a pragmatic person. You had to be, to grow up a muggleborn Slytherin in the early 60's. If a binding oath was what it took to ensure Lucius Malfoy and his elites had her back, she would work with it. Besides, the only real problem with truth was how much it pissed people off. With the backing of the newly dubbed Magickals' Movement, spear headed by all of the Old Money, Rita was untouchable.
Setting the letter down, Rita lounged back in her leather chair and turned her face to the large bay windows. Diagon Alley bustled below her, bright and colorful like it hadn't been when she had died. The center square was free of any looming, corpse-cluttered gallows. No dying beggars sat outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor in place of children. The darkness over Knockturn hung thick and black, far from the ashen, exposed husk left behind by the Light Purges' burnings. Storefronts were unbarred, shoppers unbowed, and she hadn't yet seen one wanted poster anywhere. Once upon a time, in a future not so far from where she sat, you couldn't see the brick for them.
Rolling her eyes, Rita snapped up to a proper sitting position, back turned to the memories in the window. Pragmatism, she thought. You mustn't lose that now, darling. Wait until you can do it over a glass of wine and a pretty person's sexy bits.
For now, she had an article to write. Oh, and what an article it would be! When she was done, it would take a place of pride over even the other two critical acclaims she had framed on her wall. Respectively, they had exposed the corruption of Cornelius Fudge and the feebleness of Albus Dumbledore. The Dumbledore one she was particularly fond of – it was the first time her work had lost someone not just their local reputation but their international one as well.
Now, though, she was writing what might just be her pièce de résistance – Sirius Black: innocent, never even proven guilty!
The article would be dominated by a comprehensive photo spread of the young Lord Back – gorgeous and clad in auror robes, laughing after a raid, arm-in-arm with James Potter; a touching photo where he was holding the young baby saviour, teary as a new father himself – and his later inmate photos. Also included were a few shots of him upon his release – emaciated, blank-faced, and all but clinging to his cousin, Narcissa Black-Malfoy. Between the visceral, heart-wrenching photos was a rundown of the circumstances of his arrest, lack of trial, and hushed transfer to a maximum-security Azkaban cell.
The article went on to include the arrest of Peter Pettigrew, hiding as a cowardly rat in Hogwarts, with schoolchildren, in their dormitories. It would herald Severus Snape as a hero for apprehending the Animagus and summoning the authorities, as well shine a good light on Amelia Bones for her prompt actions regarding the abuse of Lord Sirius Black. Dumbledore would be thrown under the bus, though they needed to wait for Sirius to heal before they could interview him regarding whether Dumbledore knew of the change in Secret Keeper.
Come the Monday morning release, all of Wizarding Britain (Wizarding Europe? Possibly the entire Wizarding World) would care for was that Sirius Black, superstar auror, war hero, and Lord of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, had been sentenced to Azkaban, innocent and without a trial.
She could already hear the angry roar of wizarding citizens in the streets. If Lord Black could be sent to Azkaban without a trial, what chance did the commoners have?
None at all, would be the answer government inaction would provide.
Rita resisted the pang in her heart. She hoped Amelia was prepared to deal with this. Even if Rita had done her best to show Amelia favorably, there would still be backlash against the Ministry. This was justifying every anarchist, every reformist, and every monarchist. Keeping the political structure as it was would be a hell of a task.
Rita smiled faintly. If anyone could handle such a clusterfuck, it was Amelia Bones.
Sighing, Rita turned to the filing cabinet on her left. Like everything in her office, it fit three criteria: elegant, expensive, and effective. After allowing the filing cabinet to read her magical signature, the top draw popped open. Flipping through the notes of various future articles – the Malfoy Divorce, the Weasley Potions Scandal, the Lockhart Lawsuit – Rita pulled out the information she had on the Acts and Amendments. She would have these written up in the Saturday and Sunday editions; use them as a lead up to the Black story. If Amelia were shown pushing for reform even before there was a call for it, most of the public rage should be deflected onto past regimes. Of course, Rita couldn't look too pro-Ministry, lest she lose credence with her readership – but she could help a bit.
Biting her lip, Rita debated what to do with the Malfoy and Weasley articles. They weren't technically as pressing as the Ministry politics but she would be damned if she let the hype on the Weasley Scandal die. She would never have a better opportunity to build up Arthur's reputation or to drag Molly's through the mud. As for the Malfoys, well, Narcissa was a dear friend. Rita doubted she would have made it out of Hogwarts if Narcissa hadn't helped her and convinced her family to act as Rita's sponsor.
Narcissa deserved the freedom of her divorce and she deserved a complimentary article to welcome her back to single society. Rita would fit it into the Saturday morning addition if it killed her. Amelia could just make do with having Sunday as her big, hurrah-I'm-the-new-Minister day before the Black story broke on Monday.
Pushing her curly hair back, Rita pulled it into an atrocious excuse for a bun and rang her assistant for the strongest cup of coffee known to magic-kind. Truly, Rita thought, there is no rest for the wicked – even when we're doing the right thing!
Remembering the cold Kiss of the dementor that had stolen her soul away, luring her into a sort of captive peace, Rita decided she was perfectly content with that.
Alright, I'm still behind on replies, but I hope you take this chapter as a good excuse. You people are wonderful, by the way - I could ask for no better, more motivating audience! Also, I included a bit of a crossover in here. Can anyone tell me what it is and where it's from? In addition, we get the first hints of who Amelia is probably being shipped with, so I hope you guys liked that. Edited newly on 8/20/2017.
I hope to hear from you soon! You're all lovely!
Sincerely,
BlackRoseGirl666
