This work is complete at 31 chapters and ~127,000 words. I'll be submitting a chapter a day through March until it's all up.
Chapter 21: The French Ministry
Dagmar gasped for air when the sensation of apparating finally passed. She resisted against the large hand that squeezed her upper arm, but it was about as much good as it'd been against the Muggle she'd stunned.
"Arrêtez," the man told her in an authoritative tone. "J'appartiens au ministère de la magie."
Dagmar understood at least enough of that to start calming down. She took a better look around her. She'd arrived in an open office divided up into cubicles. Other officially-dressed witches and wizards looked on at her in idle interest.
"I'm sorry," Dagmar shakily managed. "I'm British. I don't speak much French."
"I speak English," the man holding her in place drawled. "Now, if I let you go, are you going to behave?"
"Ja." Dagmar's voice shrunk further as the adrenaline bled out of her.
"Good." He released her. "Follow me."
Dagmar's legs had turned to leaden jelly underneath her. She trembled, clutching her purse for something to hold onto as the agent led her to the back of the room. He held a door open for her, which led into a private office.
"My name is Ovide Bethencourt," he introduced himself. "I'm an agent of the Improper Use of Magic Office. Take a seat."
Dagmar gravitated toward the chair in front of Bethencourt's desk, but didn't sit down. "I'm seventeen in less than five days."
"We'll discuss the matter." Bethencourt shut the door and headed for his own chair. Since he didn't seem particularly angry or even bothered, Dagmar grew less nervous that she might actually be in trouble. She took her seat.
Bethencourt rifled around in his desk. He pulled out a form, then opened a well-used inkwell.
"Full name?" he asked.
"Dagmar Aslaug Ramstad."
"Birthdate?"
"August 15th, 1980."
Bethencourt grunted under his breath. "Regardless of how close you are to your birthday, you need a guardian here on your behalf. Who would that be and how can they be contacted?"
Dagmar's stomach dropped. "Do my parents really have to come?"
"Standard procedure. Are they in Nice, or elsewhere?"
"Nice." Dagmar's spine slumped. "At the condos in the little wizarding village in Fabron. Number 220."
"I'll have them alerted. Excuse me."
Bethencourt left the office. Dagmar slouched over the desk, the butt of her palm digging into her cheek. She was suddenly exhausted. If she had only made it back to the condo, she would've probably been asleep in her bed by now. This night took a turn she hadn't expected in the least.
Dagmar glanced over her shoulder to see if Bethencourt paid any mind toward her. Should she let Draco know what had happened? Or would that only lead to more questions and more of a kerfuffle than necessary? Her parents were already going to be enough to deal with tonight. Draco was probably asleep, anyway.
On his way back to the office, Bethencourt was pulled aside by someone else. They chatted with their heads together, the witch that had stopped him glancing around frequently.
The office door opened again. Bethencourt had returned, the witch tailing him. She studied Dagmar with eyes narrowed out of intrigue, her mouth small when set in such a strong jaw.
"This is Elodie Marigot," Bethencourt introduced her. "She's an Auror."
Dagmar gave her a small nod.
"Someone has been sent to inform your parents of the situation," Bethencourt told Dagmar. "I doubt they'll be long."
"Okay," Dagmar replied.
"Mind telling us what happened?"
Dagmar's fatigue came over her again like a wave. She rubbed her eye with her right hand, wincing. It still hurt from handling the curse.
"I was being followed back to my condo by three Muggle men," she said. "I tried to outrun them. I tried to hide. I tried to ask them to leave me alone, I tried telling them to. Nothing worked and when I tried to just walk away, one grabbed me. I stunned him."
"We apprehended the three Muggles in question and will interrogate them to corroborate your story," Bethencourt told her.
Dagmar glumly nodded.
Marigot spoke up beside Bethencourt. "May I see your right hand, Ms. Ramstad?"
Dagmar held it out palm-up, but Marigot shook her head as she moved around the desk.
"The backside, please," she specified.
Dagmar turned it over and was surprised to see faint, red fractal patterns running from the bases of her fingers to where they faded away halfway up her forearm. Marigot held Dagmar's hand and elbow gently as she inspected them with a thoughtful hum.
"Interesting bit of magic you performed tonight," Marigot said. "Tell me, where did you learn that curse? The lightning one, that you failed to mention in your recount."
"I think I read about it in a book." Dagmar paused. "What about it?"
"Very dangerous, that one. Classified as Dark Class 2 in most of mainland Europe. Were you aware of that?"
Dagmar shook her head.
"Must have been some book you were reading."
When Marigot was done looking, Dagmar laid her right arm across her lap and hid it underneath her left one. Her spine slouched forward.
"I don't understand," Dagmar said. "Am I in trouble?"
"We'll discuss that with your parents when they get here."
All Dagmar could do was nod in acceptance of it. She'd been so angry and scared in the moment that she didn't consider what curse she used on Marc. After being harassed by him and his mates, Dagmar had just had enough. She didn't care in the moment what kind of harm she did. Admittedly, she knew that curse was much more harmful than a simple Stunning Spell. That had been the point of using it. Looking back at it now, feeling more like herself and less like a scared, cornered animal, Dagmar grew nauseous with remorse. What kind of trouble could she possibly be in? Someone had blocked it, hadn't they? It never hit Marc.
Sitting in Bethencourt's office while Marigot continued to study Dagmar in the silence lengthened the minutes. Bethencourt tried to pass them by filling out the rest of his report sheet, but other than Dagmar's place of birth and residence, there wasn't much other information to provide. Dagmar's eyelids grew as heavy as was possible while she dreaded what might yet come.
"Ah," Bethencourt said, perking up. "Those must be them?"
Dagmar looked back into the main office. Indeed, her parents stood near where she had first arrived. They both looked as tired as Dagmar felt, but they at least had fury to keep them going. Dagmar's father's face was set in a scowl and Dagmar's mother's cheeks flushed the same way Dagmar's did when she was extremely upset. Dagmar commended Bethencourt for his bravery when he went out to greet them. From their reaction to him, Dagmar still couldn't tell if their anger was directed at the situation or at her.
Her parents' robes billowed out behind them as they marched behind Bethencourt into the office. When Dagmar tried to smile, she found her face frozen.
"Just what is going on?" Dagmar's mother demanded before Bethencourt had a chance to close the door. "Is this where you've been all evening, Dagmar? Your father and I were worried when you didn't come back before dark. Now imagine how we felt when there's a knock on the door and Ministry members are standing there. You could've been dead."
"I'm sorry." Being tired didn't help Dagmar's mood. To be yelled at after everything else today brought tears up into her eyes.
"Well?" Dagmar's mother looked at Bethencourt. "What did she do?"
Bethencourt remained nonplussed through it all. Undoubtedly, this wasn't the first angry parent he'd ever dealt with. Dagmar's mother probably wasn't even the only one today. She might yet not even be the last.
"Your daughter was the victim in this particular case," he told her. "Three Muggle men were following her back toward your condo. Dagmar used magic as a defensive measure, hence why we're all here."
The anger bled visibly from Dagmar's mother. Pale concern replaced her red cheeks and her eyes widened.
"Oh, jenta mi," she said to Dagmar. "I'm sorry. They didn't tell us anything."
Dagmar just shrugged. She felt marginally better to at least have someone in her corner. A motherly hand squeezing her shoulder was comforting.
"So what are we here for, then?" her mother asked Bethencourt. "If Dagmar was within her rights to use magic, are we able to take her back to Nice? She must be exhausted after all that."
"We're just confirming the story now," Bethencourt said. "The Muggles in question are being interrogated. If their story lines up with Dagmar's, then this will no longer be an issue."
"I hardly see why that means we have to stay any longer."
Having been quiet thus far, Marigot pushed off from where she stood against the wall.
"I could take it from here, Bethencourt," she said. "Follow me, Mr. and Mrs. Ramstad. If I could inquire upon your first names. . .?"
Dagmar's father narrowed his eyes. "Yours, first."
"Elodie Marigot." She extended a hand. "I run the Auror office."
Because she was trained in hunting dark wizards, Dagmar had no doubt she spotted the hesitation in her father before he acquiesced to the handshake. Dagmar was so wrapped up in feeling sorry for herself that she hadn't yet thought about her father, a marked Death Eater, coming into contact with this branch of the French Ministry.
"Why would we need to speak to an Auror?" he asked. "Any Auror, let alone the department head?"
"If you'll come with me, I'll explain." Marigot turned to Bethencourt and said: "Send me a memo once the underage magic charge is settled."
Dagmar's legs again failed to work well as she rose from her seat. While Marigot headed their small party, Dagmar shared a glance with her father. He looked less impressed than ever to be here. Dagmar's mother too had gone quiet.
An archway past the Apparation point led out into a hallway. Dagmar glanced out one of the windows, and then took a double-take. Off in the distance, lit up in gold, was the Eiffel Tower.
Marigot brought them into the Auror department. Her subordinates pulling the night shift followed with their gazes.
They entered Marigot's office. It was markedly larger than Bethencourt's. There was room in front of her desk to conjure up three chairs, which Marigot did. Dagmar took the middle one. She didn't feel much safer in this situation surrounded by her parents. At least for now, the worst they could do in front of an Auror was cast her disapproving looks.
"Let's get right to it, shall we?" Marigot said as she sat down opposite them. "While Dagmar defending herself against harm from Muggles is certainly not an issue, the offensive aspect of it is. The Improper Use of Magic office was alerted at her use of a Stunning Spell. My office was informed about the use of a Heafonfýr Curse."
Dagmar's father furrowed his brow. "I've never heard of that."
"I wouldn't doubt it. It's a very obscure one that was banned for use sometime in the 1500s," Marigot told him. "It was one of the forerunners for the Cruciatus Curse which, unfortunately, still remains quite popular amongst dark magic users today."
". . .Right."
"I would like to know where Dagmar learned it from." Marigot looked at her. "It's of great interest to the French Ministry when extinct curses like that make a sudden reemergence. And I do not wish to imply I have profiled your daughter, but we're paying especially close attention to British witches and wizards right now."
To Dagmar's right, her father mindlessly ran his thumb over his left forearm.
"Where did you learn that curse?" Dagmar's mother asked her.
"I read about it," Dagmar repeated.
"Where?"
Dagmar shrugged. "I don't remember."
"She does read a lot," Dagmar's mother told Marigot. "Dagmar is due to start her seventh year at Hogwarts in two weeks. She's received Os in Defence Against the Dark Arts, as well as most her other subjects. She may have just picked it up while studying."
"I think so," Dagmar followed her lead. "We were given access to the Forbidden Section last year in the library. I don't think I read about it while trying to write an essay, but I did take a lot of books out for bedtime reading."
Marigot remained unmoved. "Do you read a lot about the dark arts, Dagmar?"
"How do you protect yourself against what you know nothing about?" Dagmar posed. "But. . .I suppose I do. I read a lot about a lot of things. My interest in it is merely from an academic standpoint."
"We'll have someone from Hogwarts vouch for that," Marigot said. "Perhaps it's true. My concern is then, if you knew how dangerous it was and what kind of bodily harm it can cause especially to a Muggle, why use it?"
"I was frustrated," was all Dagmar could think to reply with. "The person I tried to use it on, he'd been bothering me throughout the day. He and two of his mates followed me home and they cornered me. His mate grabbed me to try and hold me there—" Dagmar showed Marigot the bruise around her left wrist, "—and I'd just had enough. Stunning wasn't enough because they were still coming after me. I'm not proud that's what I came up with, but. . .it's what I came up with."
"To use that curse so efficiently without your wand," Marigot leaned on her elbow, "that can't have surely been the first time you've cast it?"
"It's the only time," Dagmar said. "It'll be the only time."
"While we're waiting on word back from Hogwarts, I'll reach out to Kingsley Shacklebolt in the British Auror office. I'm sure he could easily confirm for me whether or not that curse has been used lately. It's rare enough that it would have attracted similar attention back home."
She left them alone in her office. Dagmar knew better than to say anything, just in case someone was still listening. Her parents were of the same mind, it seemed. Dagmar relaxed a little when her father laid a hand on her forearm, even if it still held onto a ghost of an ache. The burns were at least fading.
Dagmar's mother spoke up when Marigot returned. "What should we do in the meantime while we wait for the Ministry and for Dumbledore to write back? Are we allowed to leave?"
"You could go back to Nice since I have enough hands on deck that we could set up a watch around your condo," Marigot said. "Seems excessive, I know, but standard procedure."
Dagmar's mother pressed her lips together. It would draw too much attention where they were vacationing. After the Ministry being alerted and Hogwarts as well, Dagmar figured this had already attracted enough. No doubt, she would be getting one mighty tongue-lashing when—if—she finally got out of here.
The office fell quiet. Marigot was content to ignore the three of them while she tended to other paperwork. Dagmar's father yawned, her mother rubbing her forehead. Dagmar had half a mind to lay her head down on Marigot's desk, but when she saw the same old familiar hallway as soon as she started to drift off, Dagmar rethought that. She had nothing to say when Bethencourt's memo showed up stating that everything was fine on his end. Marc and his mates corroborated Dagmar's story, so they had been Obliviated and set free. This news didn't seem to sway Marigot toward Dagmar's credibility.
"While we wait, if you wouldn't mind," Marigot said to Dagmar, "I'd like to search your bag."
"My bag?" Dagmar repeated. "Why?"
"You've been holding it quite tight since you arrived."
Dagmar didn't have anything to hide in it if that's what Marigot thought. She set it on the desk and watched as Marigot emptied its contents. Her purse was rather light after a day of shopping, with only a couple bezants left. Her quill had been bent at some point, but the ink well at least remained sealed. Marigot opened the small box of multi-coloured macarons Dagmar bought herself from the same confectioner that made the truffles Draco liked. The only object in Dagmar's bag that drew Marigot's interest was her messenger.
She held it up after flipping through the blank pages. "Who owns the other one?"
Dagmar shifted her feet underneath her chair. "My boyfriend."
Marigot tapped the front of it five times with her wand. The pages visibly puffed between their covers and this time when Marigot opened it, writing had appeared. Dagmar had no doubt that she'd dragged up all of her and Draco's conversations for the last few weeks.
"Anything in here you don't want me to read?" Marigot asked.
"Nothing incriminating." Dagmar lowered her gaze, embarrassed by all three adults in the room staring at her. "Just private messages."
Marigot sat back down and started reading. The office fell quiet again spare the occasional flip of the messenger's pages. Dagmar hadn't realized just how much she and Draco wrote back and forth. They'd at least never discussed anything to do with the Dark Lord or their parents' business with him.
If an occasion toward that had slipped Dagmar's mind, Marigot never found it. She handed the messenger back along with the rest of Dagmar's things at a little bit past two o'clock in the morning. It took everything Dagmar had not to cry from a mixture of embarrassment and fatigue.
Four o'clock passed. Dagmar had almost reached the point of not being able to comprehend any spoken word. Marigot might as well have been speaking French when a memo appeared on her desk.
"Someone's arrived to vouch for you," she told Dagmar. "I'll have you and your parents take a seat out in the office while I speak to him."
Dagmar's feet moved as sluggishly as her mind. She hardly comprehended at all that Professor Snape, looking in a mood Dagmar wouldn't test were she currently at Hogwarts, was invited into Marigot's office. Twenty minutes later or so, as Dagmar fended off another wave of mingled exhaustion and nausea, the office door opened again. Professor Snape emerged first, his black eyes coming to rest where Dagmar and her parents sat. He dipped his chin in acknowledgement, which Dagmar's father responded in kind with. Dagmar was too tired to do anything of the sort.
Marigot approached them.
"Professor Snape and Kingsley both offered me enough information that I'm comfortable releasing you," she told Dagmar. "A word of advice, though: stick to simple charms when you're defending yourself and restrict your interest in the dark arts to a theoretical level. I can't promise that a second offence like this would go in your favour."
"I think I learned my lesson," Dagmar practically slurred.
"I appreciate your cooperation. I know it certainly wasn't an enjoyable way to spend your night."
The trip back southeast to their condo had to be taken via floo. There was at least a direct route to Nice, but Dagmar still had to walk from the inn to the condo building. Other than removing her shoes, Dagmar had nothing pressing enough to do before she dropped onto her bed.
