Chapter XII International Tidings
A/N: and so with this chapter Of Blacks and Malfoys has returned. Bear with me as it has been a while since I wrote and I feel a bit awkward with some things. Hopefully I will be back to scratch soon.
This chapter was difficult to write and one of the reasons I had paused writing. A pause which turned into a long break. However, new will, since inspiration I did not lack in the first place has coerced me into writing again. I had planned it longer, but I felt the need to get past it so I can get back to the usual style and events. Some filler, some foreshadowing of future events, some turning points. A mix of all style chapter, for your reading pleasure.
Sorry for the abnormally long delay…
As the wide range of tourists left the ancient premises of the Vatican, as night fell, far stranger and deadlier characters appeared in the shadow of the ancient walls of the eternal city.
To an external observer, the whole tableu seemed ripped straight out of an ancient fairytale. Long cloaks, elegant dresses, they all magically appeared in dark alleys and made their way to Castel Sant'Angelo. The eternal resting place of the Most Revered and August Emperor Hadrian, stronghold of the Papacy, the ancient mausoleum had seen many uses throughout its long life, some known and some little less so.
In the vaulted bolted halls under the fortress' visible part, the International Confederacy of Wizards had gathered for its bi-annual meeting. Wizard-Kings, Archmages, Ministers, Lords and Ladies of the Realms, as well as their retinues would fill Rome for the night in talk, ceremony and revelry.
On behalf of Britannia, the pale visage of Lord Malfoy accompanied Minister Millicent. The written charter confirming him as the House of Lords' representative had been renewed this year with the customary, comfortable majority. The red clothed First Auror Regiment escorted the two, far more watchful in these perilous times. Their reputation of fearless warriors ensured the less war-like stayed away from the British delegation. Rumours had surfaced of a possible Irish terrorist attack. Millicent seemed far more fearful of the Irish, cowering behind her escort. Lord Malfoy held no such fright. Wand placed within his walking cane, he strode confidently through the underground chambers, making his way towards the Meeting Hall. Like many wizarding gatherings, the meeting could not begin until various ceremonies and rituals had been performed, a superstitious remnant that went back to their ancient times in Rome. Another long term tradition was the stuffing that accompanied each event, usually before in the case of plain, unimportant gatherings, or after in the case of grand and important events, to ensure the complete attention of their participants. This would be an event of the latter condition, only refreshments being served before the meeting of the heads of state that made up the International Confederation of Wizards.
Abraxas, Millicent and their Auror escort were not the sole British Wizards present, however. The wizened figure of Albus Dumbledore, sworn in leader and chair of the confederation could be glimpsed through the double doors that separated the foyer from the meeting hall. Traditionally, the Supreme Mugwump was the leader of the most powerful Wizarding State of the time. Although Britannia still fit the charter, Albus Dumbledore was sworn in by proclamation after the Invictus Coalition's triumph over Grindewald's Consortium of States. A popular move at the time, save for the delegates of those states situated on the losing side in the war, it was becoming less so with Dumbledore's own state. Despite Lord Malfoy's objections, and implicitly Minister Millicent's objections, none could contest that Albus Dumbledore was still a force to contend with in the Wizarding World.
As the various heads of state and their retinue took their allotted chairs in the hall, Albus Dumbledore read the proclamation that was read from the first meeting so many centuries ago.
"Fellow Wizards of the Seven Tribes; Though fate separated us and the Seven Hills stand united no more, the children of the Eternal City reunite to hear the pleas and solve the differences among us. May peace, power and the eternal bliss of bountifulness descend upon the Children of the Gods and may we never know strife amongst us."
Largely ceremonial, the proclamation stood true for only a little while after the Scattering. Although there had been peace since the Great War amongst the founding states, conflict still wormed its way in between the younger Wizarding States. Even old Europa was not foolproof, however, as the recent 20 Day War demonstrated. And it was this conflict that was on everyone's mind and notes for the conference.
'Witches and Wizards,' spoke Albus Dumbledore, his voice magically amplified throughout the hall, reaching even the delegate of Pacific Islands Union in the rear. 'we have many items on our agendas and as I am sure most of us are awaiting the delights the elves have prepared for us, I beg for a smooth and calm meeting." A polite applause and even a smile from Dumbledore's ardent supporters filled the hall. Dumbledore smiled at them, then clearing his throat continued. 'First on the agenda, the trading dispute of the Empire of Brasilia with the Kingdom of France. Since the Brasilian Emperor is the accuser, the podium is his.
The Most Serene Lord of the Rainforest Empire, hidden from Muggles by the vast expanse of impenetrable jungle and one of the main sources of the Magical material the Founding States relied upon for their daily needs, the aged wizard made his way to the podium and spoke his plea.
'Fellow witches and wizards, we supply France, with nearly one third of its raw material needs. Our wizards face untold perils in the rainforest, hunting down magical beasts, harvesting rare plants and cutting down precious magical wood. It is a hard life, but some one must do it. In return France supplies us with finished goods, great craftwork and potent artefacts. From their comfortable palaces, the French have no trouble creating the objects we pay for dearly in blood. We hold no hard feelings, however. That is the way of things and the Founding States are given the respect they deserve from us. One would think that would be enough and the trade would be fair. One would be much ignorant to think so. Every year French Guilds, under the patronage of their Great Houses, comfortable in trade agreements centuries old have slashed prices. Labour costs have gone up they tell me. It is hard to find wizards to do honest craft work these days, they complain.
The passionate and some would say just plea of the Brasilian Emperor was interrupted by the outcry from the French aristocrats accompanying the French Wizard-King, under whose patronage many of the offending guilds operated. However, the wizened emperor would not be so easily diverged from his purpose.
'They cry out because they are guilty,' boomed the emperor, the magically amplified voice unusually strong for a man of his stature and age, 'Having presented the above, I call for sanctions to be imposed on the Magical Kingdom of France and for the International Confederation of Wizards to set a minimal tariff upon imported raw magical materials.
The final demand, just as it seemed for the new states, seemed to be the final drop of potion that broke the audience's patience. Lord Delacour, part of the retinue of the French Wizard-King seemed especially vocal in his protests. Understandably so, naturally, since the Delacour Guild based itself upon Brasilian imports for most of its products.
In the end, it was a forlorn conclusion to the desperate plea of the Brasilian Emperor. Whatever hope of equity and fairness from the old magical world, the founding states of the Confederation paled against the financial interest of the powerful families on old Europa. With each of the founding states controlling twenty votes to the one of the new states, the old world triumphed once more, safe under the many intricacies of the founding charter.
While Dumbledore himself rooted for equality and the elimination of age old barriers and traditions, his was a voice lost under the thunder of the united old world. The perilous subject that would follow after the looked forward to recess would not share the same easy fate. Matters within Europa were delicate at best and full blown wars at their worst.
As the heads of states, ambassadors, retinues and so on made their way back into the grand hall under Castel Sant'Angelo, Supreme Mugwump Albus Dumbledore brought about the most important subject of the annual conference. The Irish Situation, brought about by the end of the 20 Day War had been the news on the old continent for a while now.
'Fellow witches and wizards' spoke Dumbledore, his voice wizened by the gravity of the matter, 'the next point on the agenda is the hostilities that have transpired between Britannia and Ireland…'
The voice of the Supreme Mugwump trailed off, detailing the exact nature of the war and the subsequent occupation. In the meantime, Lord Malfoy, intimately involved with all the details of the war, conversed with Minister Bagnold, in a rare moment of chattering.
'A rare sight indeed Minister,' said Abraxas, 'A Supreme Mugwump that speaks ill and betrays his own country.' Millicent froze unable to decide. On one hand speaking ill of the most revered wizard in Britannia was bound to bode ill for her political career, but on the other hand Lord Malfoy was her most ardent supporter and the Nobilitas had supported her bid for the top job. She settled for the politician's path.
'Headmaster Dumbledore's loyalties seem rather odd of late,' conceded the Minister.
'One can only wonder, Minister,' replied Lord Malfoy, turning his attentions back at the speakers. He risked a small glance at the French Wizard-King, who nodded in return, his face solemn. Britain had few trustworthy allies in this chamber, but despite friendly banter in between the two nations, The Kingdom of France could be counted as one. The two tribes had travelled together after the Scattering for a while. It was not the Britons' fault that the French decided to stop early.
Albus Dumbledore's calm voice continued the presentation of the situation. Prepared, as was the law, by observers from both sides, his pained voice seemed to favour the Irish slightly, leading to whispered murmurs throughout the chamber.
The old wizened headmaster had always seemed to stand aloof, free of the mundane concerns and politics of other wizards. In his youth he was lauded for it, and the general belief in Europa was that wizards such as Dumbledore were the future, petty national concerns fleeing before larger, wizardian interests. History had proven him wrong, as of late, it seemed and many looked askance at what they perceived to be not pan-Europeanism but mere dissention from Britannia. Naturally, they became suspicious and the rumour mill spun round and round, the motives being judiciously defended and justified by minor delegates of small powers.
Lord Malfoy gnashed his teeth, although except for a small tightening of the jaw bone, none noticed in his otherwise calm posture. He had tried to make Minister Bagnold conform to his point of view and that of the party, but ancient traditions maintained that only a chief of state may speak in front of the International Confederation of Wizards. All of Abraxas' machinations might prove unfruitful in one speech from the nervous looking Minister.
The fact that Millicent's hands trembled on the thick parchment they had worked on for the past week did not bode well for Abraxas' confidence of the matter. He had done all he could, but by Jupiter if Minister Bagnold failed to conform to standards, the House of Lords would look for a more suitable replacement, one more malleable to the Nobilitas tastes perhaps.
'Since Ireland is not actually a signatory of the Charter, their representatives can not actually present their case to the Confederation,' said Albus Dumbledore, his tone identical to the one he used with his Transfiguration students. 'However, in a gracious move, Iberia has decided to speak in their favour.'
Anger flashed across Abraxas' face but was quickly concealed behind the calm, serene mask he used for such occasions. The Iberian Archmage rose, making his way solemnly across the speaker dais, his robes a vivid explosion of orange and red, with the coat of arms of the Iberia embroidered over the left breast. A youthful Archmage, Abraxas noted, and potentially dangerous.
'What Britannia has done can only be qualified as undue aggression and wand rattling. This is not what Europa needs. War amongst ourselves will only weaken us, while Muggles breed like rabbits. Not only is this aggression exaggerated and undue, but it also eliminates the sovereignty of a nation, a fact which is clearly stipulated to be in violation of…' the Archmage droned on, much to Abraxas' annoyance. Looking at Millicent, he bowed down to whisper in her ear, under the sharp eyes of Albus Dumbledore.
Recognition dawning on her face, Millicent Bagnold, stood, the picture of perfect, just anger. 'Supreme Mugwump, I object most strenuously to the Honourable Archmage's presumptions,' said the Minister of Magic, some confidence seemingly making its way back into her frail form. No longer did she appear the grandmotherly puppet of the Nobilitas, but the righteous successor of Merlinus, in all her glory. 'Not only is the Archmage of Iberia making heinous accusations against Britannia, but he is in clear ignorance about the Confederation's Charter. I understand that in his young age he might not have bothered to read the ICW Charter, being concerned with more mundane matters,' punctuated Millicent Bagnold to the amusement of the delegates, the Archmage turning red-faced. The laughter seemed to instil new confidence in Millicent. Abraxas looked at her as one would as a well trained dog.
'Clearly sanctions cannot be imposed on a founding state for aggression against a sham construct of a state, one not even recognized by this very confederation,' concluded Millicent Bagnold, under the thunderous applaud of the hall.
'Dumbledore looked sadly at the Archmage, who shot murderous glances towards the British delegation,' and reluctantly spoke the words that concluded the unborn motion of the Archmage.
'The tribes have spoken, Archmage,' said Dumbledore, 'It is not to be.'
The Archmage returned to his chair, his robes now trailing of the ground, instead of proudly displaying his nation. Dumbledore stood and the other delegates followed after a small delay. Tone solemn, Dumbledore recited the familiar words for the end of the session.
'Fellow Wizards of the Seven Tribes. Our talks concluded let us feast on the cup of sincerity and share the bread of friendship and pray we assemble in the Eternal City alive for another Council.'
The words, dating back from a time when such stability as the Wizards enjoyed was unknown, frequent strife and conflicts with muggles led to Wizards enjoying glamorous but short lives. As a great philosopher said back in those Dark Days, "A Wizard's life is like that of an Inferno; It burns brightly and incinerates anything in its path, but goes out just as quickly."
The revelry that always followed after any Council, essential in maintaining good trade relations, for the flow of Galleons bought more peace than a thousand peace treaties, was remarkably more cheerful than the Council itself. Lord Malfoy had matters of his own to take care of, so he left Minister Bagnold to tender to her own and renewed his lucrative trade contracts in Eastern Europe for another ten years. All in all it had flowed rather well, he thought as he slipped wine from a silver goblet. Millicent had exceeded all expectations. She had also cast her pot with the Nobilitas, clear for the entire world to see. The Prophet would make sure of that.
The public relations Department had not slacked off while the Minister was away in Roma. Under the leadership of the proverbial Cornelius Fudge, the department flurried with activity well into the night. Exhausted from the week, Cornelius Fudge collapsed into his armchair. He longed for the days when others would toil while he drank wine with the rulers of Europa and the world. Still, one had to carry the rock to build the fortress. Bartemius Crouch had been particularly difficult to convince, but crafty Fudge, as his assistants called him dearly had managed to bulge the old rock. The Minister would have a grand return, reinforcing the statue of her office, keeping the population in high spirits, and naturally helping to advance Fudge's career.
As Millicent Bagnold Apparated in the customary spot at the intersection of Government Alley and Diagon Alley she was surprised. It seemed the entire population of the Dominion of London was gathered here, stern faced Aurors holding the population at bay, while trumpets began to blare from the right. Amazement ringed her face as the population cheered for their Minister of Magic. In exact cue, the Aurors of the The 20 Day War as the papers deigned it, with the elite Thirteenth Regiment and lead by Rufus Scrimgeour himself paraded past the Minister, saluting with martial precision. Millicent was surprised, but pleasantly so, and smiled gratuitously at Cornelius Fudge, who inclined his head with false modesty.
Abraxas Malfoy smiled from behind the Minister. Young Cornelius had always tried to distance the Ministry from the House of Lords, perhaps preparing the field for his eventual ascension. Still, his time would come and he too would come pleading to the Nobilitas to support and guide him. As they all did. Abraxas longed for the old days when Ministers of Magic were successors to Merlin in more than name, but in the current political deadlock, only weaklings from Aliquanta ever seemed to get the post. Better than Novus Veneficus, Abraxas thought, at least, shuddering at the thought and Disapparating for his Office in the Palace. An extraordinary session had been called by the Minister of Magic and the Lords would reunite tomorrow. Abraxas had much to prepare and little time to do so.
Millicent Bagnold put out the candles in her bedchamber with a flick of her wand, prior to settling in her comfortable large bed, sighing with pleasure at what had been a very good day, if she could say so.
Roughly at the same time a worried Cygnus joined his wife in the Master Bedroom at Ravensden. Druella had still not recovered fully and for the second time in his life, Cygnus felt old age creeping up on him. Old age and no wizard heir. Praying that Walpurga and Orion made a better job with Sirius than he did with Andromeda, Cygnus cleared his worries as he stretched next to his wife.
Deep within the bowels of Lord Voldemort's house, Igor Karkaroff slept after ensuring his master had all he needed. The Dark Lord seemed inordinately pleased tonight and had even decided to allow Igor a small reward.
In the cavernous office of the Dark Lord, the flames burned for another hour until Lord Voldemort finally retired for his bedroom deftly hidden behind the fireplace of his study.
Even later the last candles were extinguished at the Lords and Commons Palace as the last occupant, Lord Malfoy made his way towards his home at last. Servants sighed in relief, since they could go home as well.
The day was cold, fur lined robes keeping the crisp winter air at bay, as the Lords of the Realm made their way up the marble steps of the Palace, to attend the extraordinary session called by the Minister of Magic. Although the rumour mill ran rampant amongst the press, many of the Nobilitas already knew the purpose of the matter, and as such strode with a knowing air above the excitable crowd.
'Lord Malfoy,' screamed one of the reporters for attention, 'any inkling of today's session?'
'All will be revealed in due time, gentlemen,' replied Abraxas, 'I suggest you take your place in the press balcony.'
'The Lords are assembled and the House is present to hear the matter,' spoke an assistant to Albus Dumbledore.
'A quorum is gathered,' spoke Dumbledore gravely, 'if there are no objections we will move forward with the emergency session.' The House was silent, the only sound being the three magical quills scratching parchment as they recorded the words of the Chairman-one quill for the records, one quill for the House of Lords and one quill for the House of Commons. Likewise, in the press balcony, quills were scratching at a faster pace, guided by wizard and witches' hands this time, embellishing the truth to the full extent possible.
'Without further words, I accord the floor to Minister of Magic,' said Dumbledore, his hand inviting Millicent Bagnold to take the speaker dais. The Minister nodded solemnly, gathered her robes and made her way to the ancient stone.
'Honoured Lords of the Realm, Distinguished Chairman,' the Minister's voice intoned, 'as you are all aware the Magical Republic of Ireland ceased to exist as a separate entity mere weeks ago. Martial Law has kept the population calm and content for now, but we need to seek more permanent ways of asserting our will and rule upon our citizens across the sea. In the Directorate's eyes only one wizard is capable enough of maintaining order and protecting British interests in the Colony of Ireland. The Ministry of Magic calls upon Orion Black to abandon all his current business and depart in all haste for Ireland to serve Britannia, as Magical Governor of Ireland.' The Minister paused for breath, the proclamation intoned in seemingly one single breath, and continued, her eyes pointed straight at the Nobilitas as she delivered her final words of the proclamation. 'I pray for the Lords to consider the matter thoroughly and vote in favour of the resolution.'
'Thank you Minister,' said Dumbledore, gesturing for Millicent Bagnold to concede the dais. 'A nomination for a new position sits on parchment. The chair will entertain one objection and one support. If there are any who wish to speak against the matter?' Dumbledore left the statement hanging.
As expected, Richard Potter's wand shot high in the air, renewed vigour seeming to pour in the old wizard's limbs.
'The chair recognizes Lord Potter,' said Dumbledore, the faint of a smile creeping up on his wizened visage. Albus had high hopes for Richard Potter, who shared many of his ideals, but his hands were tied due to the iron grip of the Nobilitas on the House of Lords. Risking a furtive glance at the Minister of Magic who sat besides him, Albus could not help to compare the two. What a Minister of Magic would Richard Potter make… His thoughts were interrupted as Lord Potter had made his way towards the speaker dais, under polite applause from the Novus Veneficus.
'The situation in Ireland is regrettable. I had thought such times were behind us,' Lord Potter's voice thundered through the House under admiration from Novus Veneficus, interest from the Aliquanta and haughty gazes from the Nobilitas. 'But one must make do with what one is handed out. Our blunders aside, I, for one, do not think Orion Black is the suitable candidate for the post. No offence intended to Honourable Mister Black, naturally, but his sanguine temperament and the heavy hand he is known for make him the wrong choice for the matter. His talents are better suited elsewhere perhaps? What we need is a wizard of great calm and patience to handle matters. A wizard who may calmly mediate matters and temperate hot heads before anymore blood is shed.' Pausing to look at the House before continuing, specifically at the Aliquanta, Lord Potter cleared his throat.
'If I may speak clearly, my lords, a Novus Veneficus is unsuited for the task, for he does not have the will to control matters. I am willing to admit such faults. However, in the same spirit, I pray the Nobilitas consider theirs; for they too are unfit for the post, unwilling to compromise sufficiently to allow a peaceful transition to Britannia's control. I pray that we may once again reach consensus and turn to the Aliquanta for the matter. I nominate Lord Longbottom for the position.'
Sharp surprise rang across the chamber, except for the select few who had known this was in the making. The Minister seemed oddly confounded at the moment. Her own party's betrayal on the regrettable werewolf affair had driven a wedge between them, but her nomination not supported by her own party had seemed to seal the nail on her coffin. Without her party's support she was forced to rely heavily upon the Nobilitas, who undoubtedly favoured some of their own matters.
The press did not miss the fact and the Minister's fall from grace and were scribbling down furiously, muttering amongst themselves.
'We have two nominations on the table,' said Dumbledore, returning to the laws of precedence, 'The Nobilitas will speak in favour of their candidate, I presume?'
Soft laughter rang through the hall as Lord Malfoy made his way to the speaker dais.
'While the Honourable Lord Potter's call for calm and moderation are admirable,' said Abraxas, 'I do not agree to his position. We all have seen that Lord Potter's actions often lack the spine required for a Lord of the Realm. I trust the Lords have not forgotten the humiliation upon this House of the ill handed werewolf affair. Then too, moderation and calm were called for and a harder, but speedy resolution was ignored. I call upon the wisdom of your years to decide the matter. Shall we yet again fall prey to softness, or shall we act decisively to preserve our control of Ireland?'
Lord Malfoy's proclamation seemed well received, with some of the Aliquanta even casting their eyes down in shame. While the House of Lords in its entirety had been cast the blame, the Aliquanta especially had suffered greatly. With upcoming elections in the commons, Lord Macmillan had to ponder the situation deeply.
'A simple majority is required for the appointment of our liaison in Ireland,' said Chairman Dumbledore, 'in the interests of national unity I ask that you vote with your heads and not as your party leaders command. Voting for the first candidate in order of precedence shall be the white globe, while the second candidate shall be the black globe.'
Wild speculation from the press was quickly silenced by a disappointed glance from Dumbledore. The witches and wizards of the press corps, some not far out of Hogwarts felt as if they were dressed down for their behaviour and proceeded to watch the voting silently.
Done traditionally by the largest party first, the most senior members chief among all, the voting went as such matters usually did. The Nobilitas Triumvirs touched the white globes, trickled by many of the Nobilitas. Lord Malfoy smiled, watching the golden numbers altering as each Lord of their faction touched his wand to the white globe, casting his approval. Such a smile turned sour as the numbers had stopped upon reaching 100 and the newer lordships created in the 1700s altered the balance. An astonished glance from the press added to the confusion as quills scratched parchments as fast as amazed hands could carry them. Soon the balance was lost as the golden numbers now showed 99 to 31.
By tradition the smallest party followed to allow the fewer voices more attention. Cygnus prayed for dissensions within the Novus Veneficus. To be robbed of their victory by a single vote was not something he dared consider. To the Triumvirs' dismay, the Novus Veneficus stood as one behind Lord Potter, touching their wands to the black glove. The Aliquanta stood up, as the numbers continued to equal out. Ninety nine to fifty, ninety nine to sixty. To the Nobilitas horror' the numbers kept rising as the radically inclined Aliquanta voted for their own nominee and the pure moderates voted in their party's interest. The twenty-five generally conservative Aliquanta were the final hope for the Nobilitas.
Albus Dumbledore sighed in regret as ill favour swept the post from Lord Longbottom's capable hands. Five of the Aliquanta had betrayed their own party and voted for Orion Black. A mere five votes, but sufficient to tilt the balance in favour of the Nobilitas.
'The Lords have spoken,' said Dumbledore, 'As of today, Orion Black is the Magical Republic of Britannia's Magical Governor of Ireland, with all the trappings and privileges associated to the office, by a majority of 104 votes to 96. A runner has been dispatched to inform him of our request. Should Mister Black decline the assignment, as per the rule of law, the post will pass on to Lord Longbottom. The emergency session of the House of Lords is now ended.'
The gravel marked the end of the fight on the Palace floor, but the beginning of other, more dangerous disputes. Some of which ended in much more harm than the simple embarrassment of having lost the vote. The thirty one Lords who had betrayed their party at its time of need bandied together for the perceived protection numbers accorded them. Without a single word, the loyalists followed Lords Malfoy, Black and Lestrange out of the Hall and into the Warlock's Club across the Alley.
Lord Richard Potter, astute enough to realize that although he might have lost a battle, the war suddenly seemed achievable, walked to personally congratulate the Nobilitas. The irony did not fail to be remarked by the press as the stiff backed Lords of the Realm were in the company of Novus Veneficus rather than their own party.
Meanwhile at Number 12 Grimmauld Place…
Kreacher was busy pilling the possessions of Master Orion into large travelling trunks. Screams could be heard from the study downstairs, but Kreacher closed his ears. What the Master and Mistress discussed was not Kreacher's business. Strange for an elf, Kreacher had always read the papers after the Master and Mistress were done with them naturally.
How Kreacher would love to get his hands on the slimy necks of those traitorous thirty-one members. How he would love to sink his teeth into their flesh. The Mistress had but to give the word and Kreacher would leap to it.
The elf's insane mutterings did not seem to obstruct his work, however, as Master Orion's trunks were packed speedily and efficiently. Kreacher did not know how Master Orion could live without Kreacher to take care of his needs. Maybe he would have Irish House Elves. If they did not see to his master's needs Kreacher would wring their little necks as well.
'Orion I won't have it,' screamed Walpurga, not caring about who heard her.
'Walpurga dear,' replied Orion, calmly shuffling his papers. A Guard from the First Auror Regiment had arrived earlier this afternoon with the request from the House of Lords. 'one cannot simply refuse a nomination from the House of Lords. It is a splendid post, too, propelling our family even further in importance. I do not see your objections to it.'
'I will not go, Orion,' said Walpurga, 'I will not live in that dreadful place.' Orion looked shocked. There had not been love in their marriage in the beginning, merely the convenience of a good match, but in time, Walpurga and Orion had grown to care for each other. Not passionate love perhaps, but she had been at his side for a long time.
'That is naturally your choice, although I regret it,' spoke Orion bitterly, closing the dragon hide briefcase he used to carry his papers, 'I shall visit as often as I can. Perhaps if you can bear it for a few days you can bring the children to Creidhne for a few days over the spring holidays.'
'Orion,' said Walpurga as her husband moved to collect his belongings upstairs and depart for Ireland. 'Take care of yourself, I wouldn't wish to be left alone in the world.'
'Now why do you get such thoughts my dear,' said Orion, smiling, 'the Irish were smashed by our victorious Aurors. They are meek as sheep by now, probably. Take care of Sirius. For a while I thought that Druella and Cygnus would have a son, but he will be Lord Black one day.'
With those final words, Orion, followed by servants carrying his belongings and a few Auror Guards Disapparated for Creidhne.
