Yes, Minister
By An Orc.
A series of short vignettes over the life of Daphne Greengrass, Senior file clerk in archives of the ministry of magic. (Or Director of the Department of Mysteries, take your pick)
Set in the Method of Double-tap universe.
What did Daphne Greengrass do after Hogwarts? She went to a job in the Ministry archives. Odd for an ambitious witch who'd managed to stay out of the mess that was the blood war.
There was that business where she'd had to marry Harry Potter because of some old marriage contract, but they'd divorced after five years.
Miss Greengrasss had gone back to her parents and disappeared into obscurity at the ministry.
Or, depending on your point of view, taken an entry-level job with the Department of Mysteries, helped defeat Voldemort and gone on to be the youngest woman section chief in four hundred years. People in the DOM watched her career with interest. As the previous holder of that same promotion record had gone on to be the Dark Minister Lufkin, with cautious interest. From behind a fidelious charm in some extreme cases. It made getting tea at teatime harder, but the safety was worth it.
-==0==-
Firstly: wherein Kingsley Shacklebolt has a meeting with the head of the Department of mysteries.
Kingsley Shacklebolt piled paperwork on the desk Scrimgeour had used. The chair had been replaced; there was no way those stains were ever being removed. A cursed custard pie had turned Scrimgeour into a horizontal smear around the room. DMLE's best guess was the old guard.
"Minister" yelped his secretary "You have visitors!"
Kingsley looked up from the piles of parchment to see two grey-robed figures coming into the room, one smaller, following behind. Unspeakables, he realised. They had grey gloves on, and the hoods shadowed their faces.
"Davis, hold everyone off while I have this meeting" said Kingsley, and used his wand to shut the door. The Unspeakables had stopped.
"Take a seat please" asked Kingsley, sitting down. The Unspeakables stayed standing.
The larger one talked… well buzzed in a clipped parody of human speech "Minister Shacklebolt I am Croaker and this is my assistant Slicer."
"Yes, yes, voice charms and codenames" said Kingsley brusquely.
"I am the head of department" said Croaker "But I will be retiring in four years. Slicer will probably succeed me, if only because Slicer will do the paperwork."
Slicer might have nodded slightly at that.
"In the meantime, we ask that you reconsider our request for funding for repairs. Your predecessor did not approve them" buzzed Croaker.
"How much was that?" asked Kingsley, sure he'd heard something about this.
"Fourteen million galleons" buzzed Slicer, using a grey gloved hand to put a parchment on Kingsley's desk from their robe pocket.
"We don't have that sort of money" said Kingsley immediately.
"That is what your predecessor said" buzzed Croaker. "Do you like pie?"
Kingsley thought about that for a second "Was it you lot?" he asked.
"No, but we could" buzzed Croaker.
"Anything else?" asked Kingsley.
Slicer handed over two more parchments "Spending requests" they buzzed.
Croaker buzzed "Don't ask what for, just sign them" the unspeakable pointed one grey-gloved finger.
"Finance will not stand for that" said Kingsley.
"Then they can sit" buzzed Croaker. "If something very strange happens, call for us. We know very strange. And we're from the ministry, and we're here to help."
Kingsley rolled his eyes.
Then they left. Just... walked out. Great; the Unspeakables, turn up, want money and leave.
-==0==-
Secondly: Kingsley Shacklebolt's last day as minister
"So Hermione, one piece of advice" said Kingsley, hair shot with grey.
"Always be polite?" asked Hermione.
"Oh Merlin, No, this from one Minister to another. Never, ever fuck with the Department of Mysteries" said Kingsley.
Hermione blushed.
Kingsley smiled dismissively. "Now, they play their little games..."
"Games?" said Hermione
"The Department head, they just… appear." said Kingsley. "I'll tell you what they told me; 'Just sign the spending requests and call us if anything seriously weird happens'"
"Seriously Weird?" said Hermione "That's... a bit… "
"Open ended" said Kingsley. "The head of DMLE is told the same thing, apparently, but in a more condescending way."
"Condescending?" asked Hermione curiously.
"When you're scared of the monsters under the bed, call us" replied Kingsley. Hermione winced "That's… quite condescending" she said.
Thirdly: Where Hermione Granger-Weasley meets her most mysterious department head. Who impersonates a Tolkien elf, for some reason.
Hermione Granger-Weasley sat at her desk. Kingsley's old desk, hers now.
She was the youngest woman to be Minster for magic ever and the first muggle-born witch. She adjusted the small photo of her and her two boys on the desk. Harry and Ron.
Harry was married to Ginny now and they were expecting. Hermione patted her own tummy. Not this year, but soon. She dove into the paperwork.
She looked up at a small noise and a deeply hooded figure in an improbably sky coloured robe sat down onto her visitors chair.
"You wished to see me" said the figure, in a voice made of silver bells that made Hermione's perfect teeth ache, and made her want to pull her own hair out and hide in a muddy puddle.
"Excuse me, who are you?" said Hermione, concentrating, trying to fight the compulsions in the voice.
"Head of the Department" said the figure, the silver bells making Hermione's teeth ache.
"Head of which department?" asked Hermione, wincing.
"Witch, head of the Department" said the figure, the pressure in Hermione's teeth and brain increasing.
"Stop doing that" snapped Hermione angrily. The figure made a hand gesture and the pressure in Hermione's teeth and brain faded.
"You are a head of department, and you came to see me, but you don't have an appointment, and you didn't open the door" said Hermione, mustering her facts.
"Slicer, head of the Department of Mysteries" said the hooded figure unhelpfully.
"Well, you can take that bloody hood off too" said Hermione.
Slicer reached up with inhumanly long and fine hands and lowered the silky blue cloak. Slicer was a female... something. She had pointy ears, blonde hair and a pointy-elvish face. And purple eyes. Purple eyes. Slicer blinked at Hermione "Is that enough, Minster, or Do I have to take my robes off?" said a voice that hurt to hear, made Hermione want to hide.
"You're an elf" said Hermione.
"As far as you know" replied Slicer "My identity is protected and you are not allowed to know it."
"Are you really an elf?" asked Hermione.
"My identity is protected and you are not allowed to know it" repeated Slicer, her face shifting subtly to look imperious, her voice sounding irritated.
"You did not come to your scheduled appointment" said Hermione, trying to gain some control of this conversation. And fight the headache.
"It was not convenient to me" replied Slicer.
"Are you always going to appear like a magical elf?"
"No" said Sliver in a voice like silver bells and dark honey. "But it amuses me to do so today."
"Your... department doesn't submit any records to personnel or finance." said Hermione, trying to gather some composure.
"Yes" said Slicer. "Unspeakables identities are protected, and the departments activities are kept secret."
"You can't just be a secret department that needs one point four million galleons a year, and submits no paperwork"
"I assure you, we have plenty of paperwork" replied Slicer. "All classified."
"Well you can't keep going on like this" said Hermione angrily "My principles are fairness, equality and transparency all reporting. Secrets allowed evil to fester."
"How touching" sneered Slicer "The department of mysteries has existed for longer than the Ministry of magic, and has never submitted any paperwork explaining what it does, who the staff are or what we spend our funds on. That will not change under your hopefully brief tenure, Minister Granger-Weasley."
"You got my name right" replied Hermione, shocked.
"And I am called Slicer, though that is not my name" replied Slicer. "Nor my face."
"You're not actually an elf" said Hermione bluntly.
"Today I am" said Slicer imperiously, and she stood, put up her hood and walked towards Hermione's office door, stopping to look over her shoulder "We will require more funds next year, another three hundred thousand galleons."
"You can't just tell me you need another three hundred thousand next year" said Hermione angrily at the retreating elf. "What's it for?"
"I do not know" replied Slicer "That knowledge is compartmentalised and I do not need to know, neither, in fact do you. You have been quite forceful in insisting department heads submit forward estimates. Our forward estimate is one point four million galleons, unless we encounter certain t"Seers" answered Slicer "Now take care not to forget, one point four, unless very bad things happen, then one point seven. And the obliviators will with a probability of eighteen percent need a budget increase of forty percent, because the world will be being ended by some bad things, and the muggles may not know of it."
"A breach of the statute and thousands of dead?" asked Hermione, feeling worried.
"And enough overtime to make some of my key personnel ten years older" sail Sliver turning and staring at Hermione from under her cloak "More than Five turns a day, every day all year for dozens."
Hermione's blood ran cold, and her skin made goosebumps. Slicer was talking about being so overworked, they were using time turners. Lots of time turners, pushed to the very limit. "That… that is very dangerous" said Hermione.
"More important than rescuing a violent beast" said Slicer "Some of us have work to do." said the … head of the department of Mysteries, leaving mysteriously having told Hermione nothing… well, except for the forward estimates that Hermione wrote down neatly and the note about the Obliviators. This was going to cost a fortune to prepare for.
Hermione's head was hitting the pillow that night, when she realised Slicer had told her everything she needed… and wasn't even told everything … herself. Slicer probably was female.
Hermione had terrible nightmares of a bare-headed Slicer pointing at Hermione and laughing, calling her an ignorant mudblood. Hermione woke up and briefly considered that Slicer might be a pure-blood supremacist, one of the old political guard. Though… the facts Slicer had given her were… preparation for something awful that might happen. Eighteen percent… eighteen percent Hermione thought… we'll have the staff, the budget, drill for an emergency rollout of all Obliviators, coordinate with the Muggle PM to stop the media if needed… .
"You all right love?" asked a sleepy Ron.
"Just… thinking about work" said Hermione. Ron grunted and went back to sleep.
-==0==-
Fourthly: Where Hermione Granger gets pestered by a department for things she wants to keep secret.
Minster Hermione Granger-Weasley sat at her desk and eyed the unstoppable piles of paperwork.
Another memo flew in from the Auror office, judging by the reddish colour.
Hermione ignored it and got to work.
Minutes later Hermione batted away another light grey memo.
'Report to the Department for debriefing re: your adventures'
She'd had four so far. She was the Minister, she didn't get summoned like, like… a house elf.
And she certainly wasn't explaining her insane adventures at Hogwarts to Slicer, or one of her Grey-robed Unspeakables.
She finished the last meeting of the day with her department heads; obviously not including Slicer, and started taking notes about what the next day was going to be.
The tea lady somehow decided to arrive with the tea trolley in her office.
"Tea" asked the witch pushing the trolley.
"Oh please" said Hermione.
The tea lady straightened up and handed her a cup of tea. Hermione looked over and froze. There, holding a teacup in unnaturally long fingers was Slicer.
"Minister" said Slicer, in her tooth-grindingly bell-like voice.
"Is this about the memos?" asked Hermione.
"One of my staff is collating the definitive history of what happened. Many parts of the second war are mysterious to us in the Department. We do not like mysteries" said Slicer.
"You're the department of bloody Mysteries" exclaimed Hermione crossly.
"And we take mysteries, find out what's going on, pin them down and take them apart" said Slicer.
"You leave Harry alone!" said Hermione, suddenly seeing Slicer strapping Harry to a dissection table and cutting him apart.
"Harry Potter has no secrets from us" said Slicer coldly.
Hermione tried to think if she'd seen Harry recently… he'd been at The Burrow last weekend.
"I… I don't know a lot Harry didn't" said Hermione.
"That will not satisfy us" said Slicer, in a tooth-grating tone "My unspeakable will require more detail."
"I am very busy!" said Hermione "I am the ruddy Minster of Magic"
"My unspeakable can do this any time, for example on Sunday while you would otherwise be wasting time with the Weasleys" offered Slicer.
Hermione looked at Slicer, so arrogantly offering the to question Hermione on a Sunday.
"Is the Department even open on Sunday?" asked Hermione.
"We never close" said Slicer, and tilted her head.
"When I went to the Department of Mysteries in the evening in ninety-five, the department was deserted except for Death Eaters." said Hermione, narrowing her eyes and staring at Slicer.
"We were closed, but now we never close" said Slicer, and she blinked "I call it flexi-time."
"Are you paying overtime?" asked Hermione curiously.
"Only if they work more than twenty-four hours in one day" said Slicer sternly.
"That is unhealthy" said Hermione firmly.
"For some tasks we only have one person, so they wind up a lot" said Slicer. "You could increase our budget"
"Given your expenditure I calculate you have over a thousand staff" said Hermione.
"I wish" said Slicer "We spend a lot on materials, and buying items."
"Buying items?" asked Hermione.
"A family find a strange old amulet in a chest, and after the deaths stop, we have to buy the amulet from the remaining family" said Slicer, and Hermione's head ached.
"Can you not do that" complained Hermione.
Slicer waved her hand and the pain eased in Hermione's head.
"So you pay for artefacts that are causing problems" asked Hermione.
"If anyone is still alive" said Slicer drily. "We aren't authorised to seize things."
Hermione had a sudden, stomach churning vision of the Wizengamot's reaction to a seizure law.
"We can seize dark artefacts found in the course of a search" offers Slicer "But not in general."
"So you spend a lot on that?" asked Hermione.
"Mostly on ingredients. Rituals are expensive, but valuable" said Slicer "Our medical area spend a lot on potions."
"Medical area?" asked Hermione.
"Our accidents are secrets" said Slicer.
"This Sunday then" said Hermione. "Nine AM?" she asked.
"Yes Minister" said Slicer, taking a teacup and sipping tea.
Hermione sipped some tea. It was very good and exactly the right temperature.
"Look at us, chatting over a cup of tea" said Slicer brightly.
"How many accidents?" asked Hermione.
"On my first day, I had to have several burn potions, or my husband might have noticed" said Slicer.
"Oh" said Hermione. "Does he know what you do now?"
"Did" corrected Slicer.
"Oh I'm sorry for your loss" said Hermione, wincing.
"I divorced him, he was a terrible person" said Slicer.
Hermione immediately thought that Mr Slicer would have been the poor victim and Slicer the monster.
"He never loved me" said Slicer, eyes narrowed.
Hermione blinked, and struggled to think how Slicer, who was so awful could have had a man love her. The uncomfortable thought that Slicer actually was pretty, and her disguise was … just a disguise. And she'd married someone who… didn't love her, just wanted her for her looks.
"I'm sorry" said Hermione honestly. "I um… "
"Are a judgemental mudblood" said Slicer.
"Do not use that word" said Hermione, picking up her wand from her desk.
Slicer blinked and tilted her head. Like an asshole from Slytherin.
"I'll be at the Department on Sunday." said Hermione "Now get out."
Slicer stood up and clicked her fingers. Her robes went grey and gloves appeared on her hands, which had shrunk to human dimensions. She pulled up her hood and her face vanished and Hermione realised, cringe-fully that Slicer was quite pretty but glamoured to look like a Tolkien elf.
Slicer waved her wand at the tea-trolley which vanished in a neat bit of banishing, and she left; an anonymous unspeakable. Hermione stared at her retreating figure. As tall as Hermione, and with an elegant gait. Some pure-blood witch.
Hermione cuddled over to Ron in bed that night "Ron" she asked "Do you think I'm pretty?"
"Best looking nice girl in our year" said Ron "I love you Hermione."
Ron's words gave Hermione a warm feeling in her chest, and she went to sleep cuddled up to Ron. The nightmare where Slicer called her a mud-blood woke her up, but it was just… that word.
Hermione went to the black door on Sunday, was met by an Unspeakable and taken to an office, sat down and asked straightforward questions by the buzzing voice.
"Do you know about the horcruxes" asked Hermione.
"Quite" buzzed the Unspeakable. "Potter was debriefed."
Hermione relaxed a bit and the Unspeakable asked more questions about Harry's time at school.
"Surely Harry told you this?" asked Hermione.
"Potter was not questioned in depth" admitted the Unspeakable.
"You could ask him" asked Hermione.
"We prefer not to deal with Mister Harry Potter" said the Unspeakable. "He is considered an unacceptable risk."
But the unspeakables had wanted every detail … of Dumbledore's plan, how it went to pieces, It was embarrassing. The Unspeakable had made tea, said "You did very well for a child, please continue?"
Hermione went to bed tired with a sore throat on Sunday night, and just as she was going to sleep, she realised… that seventeen year old Hermione had been a child. Harry… underage still, Ron just barely able to legally cast spells. They'd been… she had a sudden flashback to first year. A challenge perfectly tailored to their triad's skills. Child soldiers. Fuck.
-==0==-
Fifthly: Budget issues. Everyone wants more money, but one department just won't supply spending records. Hermione Granger will cut the waste, expose corruption… and be stared down by the lady from records.
"We will cut the waste, expose corruption with fairness, equality and transparency" said Hermione loudly.
The crowd applauded, not that loudly.
Hermione sent requests for audit-able spending records to every department by memogramme.
The Department of Mysteries replied with a one word memo. 'No.'
Hermione had an idea. A lateral plan worthy of Harry. Even thought he was mostly a house-husband these days, or did antique repairs.
She wrote a memogramme to Records, asking for the archival copies of the Department of Mystery's records. Wizards didn't have a scrap of common-sense, they might be using the regular archive for financial records.
A day later, her secretary told her she had a visitor from Records. Hermione grinned, and wanded her in. The woman from archives, a thin, older, grey-haired witch in dark charcoal robes was pushing an archives trolley. Hermione's mood soared.
The witch pushed the trolley in all the way and went on foot to close the door, and returned to face Hermione directly. She was thin-faced and had slightly tilted eyes.
"Minister Granger-Weasley" said the Archivist "you requested the archival financial records of the Department of Mysteries" she said. "That's quite lateral thinking" she continued, in a polite tone. Then she stopped talking and stared Hermione in the eyes "I told you before and I'll tell you again. No."
"You told me what?" asked Hermione, and the lady from Archives flowed into... a slightly shorter woman in grey robes and gloves. In a buzzing voice she said "As I said, Minister Granger-Weasley, our records care classified, and you do not have a need to know."
"Slicer" said Hermione.
Slicer nodded.
"I just want to eliminate waste and expose corruption, so we can root it out" said Hermione.
"My department is staffed by professional paranoids with access to Seers. We do have waste. It is unavoidable, and we compartmentalise, for safety and that causes waste too. But no, I will not give you access to financial records from my department. Your request is in line with generally accepted accounting audit practices, and I applaud that, however, that level of disclosure is not compatible with the safe operation of my department. A department labouring under the cost of a three hundred thousand galleon contingency we were never paid."
"It wasn't my fault!" snapped Hermione. "Finance wouldn't go for it"
"You were Minister" said Slicer. "You could have used Potter as a threat"
"Harry is a shopkeeper!" said Hermione.
"We do not interact with Mister Harry Potter-Black." said Slicer. "Have you seen his file."
"It's classified and I have no reason to know" said Hermione.
Slicer drew her wand and waved it in gloved fingers and from the trolley's now-open lid, floated a file folder which landed gently on her desk.
The front said simply
'Harry James Potter-Black July 31 1980-
Spouse
Daphne Greengrass-Black ( but that was struck through)
Ginevra Molly Weasley '
And stamped over the file in the top right, in blue ink were the large letters R.E.D.
The bottom of the file had some classification words on it, but the gist was: don't open the file.
"What does RED mean?" asked Hermione.
"Retired, Extremely Dangerous" said Slicer nonchalantly. "If, for example, Aurors were to plan a raid on Mr Potter, they would take … a holiday and not do the raid. Their grandmothers would have all died, that sort of thing."
"Harry" said Hermione "Isn't that powerful."
"Minister, you are perfectly well aware he defeated an immortal dark lord. He is probably the most dangerous man in Britain." said Slicer.
"But he wouldn't do anything wrong" said Hermione.
"Our experiences differ" said Slicer. "His reaction, if provoked, by, for example the abduction of Ginevra Potter?"
Hermione swallowed. Oh. She hadn't though about that. "Harry is very protective of all his friends" she said euphemistically.
"Which is why I do not offer you pie" said Slicer, nodding. "You are under his protection."
"Pie?" asked Hermione.
"Scrimgeour was shredded by a cursed pie." said Slicer "We do not admit to having done it, and I'm not much of a cook, but we could organise a pie for you, Minister."
"Fine" said Hermione angrily "Don't tell me. Get out."
"Goodbye minister" said Slicer, and she vanished the file, the trolley and left in place of the file, a cup of tea. Slicer walked out like… a cat in dress robes and the door swung shut behind her.
Hermione sipped the tea. It was the perfect temperature, and delicious. She frowned. She really, really hated Slicer. And… suspected Slicer hated her too, for some reason. She was narrowing the mental list of who Slicer could be down. It wasn't Padma Patil, she was taller, or Marietta Edgecombe; she wasn't that sophisticated, and still had scars. Hermione felt an instants' remorse for that. She was fairly sure that Slicer was from Slytherin, pretty, determined and ... had been married to a man who didn't love her. For her looks. Hermione felt a pang of guilt. It couldn't be Harry's ex, Greengrass, she'd been a bitchy pureblood cow, but worked in a humble job in records. Some sort of horrid thing where her parents had wanted her to remarry Harry… and that would have been intolerable for everyone. So she'd had to get a job... and only managed a clerks' role in Records. Still, she could hardly have gone to DMLE. She'd been a Slytherin after all.
Sixth: Hermione Granger has a personal day, comes back to find one of her department heads has gone rogue. George and Fred Weasley try to save the day and are disturbed. Hermione moves office temporarily.
"The ceiling has turned into a giant anus and it shits on your chair" said Fred. "It's brilliant and terrifying"
George spoke up "It's so well done that it's a shame to dispell it really."
"My office is full of shit!" said Hermione indignantly.
"Well, you um… Harry… Ginny" said George "Some people might be irritated by that."
"Ginny couldn't do this" said Hermione sternly.
"No" said George "She'd bat-bogey you, hex you blind, then feed you to the giant squid."
"And she hasn't" said Hermione.
"Because frankly, Harry and Ginny's marriage was on the rocks anyway" said George. "Harry's got real problems. His first marriage... that cursed one really messed him up."
"George, I've known Harry since he was eleven, the Marriage did not mess him up" said Hermione.
"You're saying He's always been an emotionally distant arsehole with a penchant for tantrums?" asked Fred.
Hermione opened and closed her mouth.
"No" she finally said "He got lots better after Hogwarts."
"So his cursed wife then" said Fred.
"Er" said Hermione "He um… came out of that capable of communicating."
"So Mrs stick up-her-arse was good for Harry?" asked Fred, wincing.
"I don't think they ever… um…" said Hermione.
"Well you could ask" said George.
"This is Harry, an emotionally distant arsehole with a penchant for tantrums" said Hermione. "Have you ever been the one to set him off? It's no bloody fun."
"Er" said George "If he's like that, why snog him?"
"Because he's…. Harry" said Hermione. "He's brave and fearless and … my best friend, and yes, his first wife did beat any inclination to slobbishness out of him."
"So you're saying he comes pre-whipped?" asked Fred.
"Get rid of the anus" said Hermione crossly.
Seventh: Phillip Mercer is the new minister of magic, and meets a most mysterious head of department.
Phillip Mercer, minister of magic. He say back in the chair, quite sure he only got the job because Hermione Potter had retired. He suspected a history of his tenure would just mention his name, and service date. At this rate… one four year term.
He'd met all the department heads at the morning coffee, and they'd been… career politicians in the ministry of magic. Not many of the old people from the war left in politics.
He was looking at his calendar, when his secretary… Minster Granger's old one Devins buzzed him.
"Minister you have a visitor." they said obliquely.
"Who is it?" asked Phillip.
"An unspeakable" said Devins. "The head of department."
"Send them in, they're late" said Phillip Mercer.
The door opened and an old-ish witch walked in a hooded grey robe in grey gloves.
They stopped in front of his desk, turned a shadowy hood to his desk and buzzed in a parody of human speech "Slicer, head of Department. Minister Mercer."
"Can't you take the hood off and speak normally" said Phillip.
"No" buzzed Slicer "Departmental policy is that unspeakable identities are protected. The robe and the speech charm are our uniform."
"I'm the minster, you can take all that off" said Phillip, smiling.
"Minister, that is not departmental policy, nor has it been so for eight hundred years." said Slicer.
"What exactly does your department do?" asked Phillip.
"The department of mysteries has existed for longer than the Ministry of magic, and has never submitted any paperwork explaining what it does, who the staff are or what we spend our funds on. That will not change under your tenure, Minister Mercer. Minister Granger was a difficult minster and would not pay for our contingency submitted by a valid forward estimate.
"three hundred thousand Galleons!" said Phillip "We can't afford that as a contingency"
"My budget is one point four million galleons. I cannot afford it the contingency, and we have been forced to take very desperate measures." said Slicer.
"How desperate?" asked Mercer.
"It puts the economy at risk" admitted Slicer "But we had to pay the bills somehow."
Eighth: The planning for the State funeral for Hermione Potter, war hero and former Minister of magic is a bit disrupted by an old witch from records.
"Here's an audit that shows she falsified her XP27D tea records." said the old woman from records.
"Well, everyone does that" said Minister Mercer.
"Here's the inventory where She broke into the Department of mysteries and caused fourteen million galleons of damage" said the old woman from records.
"Really, we're her to eulogise Hermione Potter, war hero" rebuked the Minster "Not perform a hatchet job on her"
The old woman form records blinked slowly "Just trying to ensure there was fairness, equality and transparency in the reporting" she said.
"Oh go – that rant" said Minister Mercer reflexively "She always did harp on about that"
The old woman from records folded her arms across her chest and made a "hmh" sound.
Ninth: Rubeus Dunbar and Phillip Mercer exchange being the Minister; and Minister Dunbar is appraised of … certain problem staff.
Rubeus Dunbar, incoming Minister for magic entered the minsters' office. His predecessor, Phillip Mercer ( called 'The Merciless' around the ministry after his twenty-year reign) was packing pictures and books into a small crate.
"Ah Dunbar" said Phillip Mercer. Smiling, oddly "Now it's time for one of the traditions of changing minster. The quiet talk. My predecessor... everyone, who hasn't died in office does it.
"Quite" said Rubeus Dunbar, who'd beaten old Mercer with good looks, his mother's brains and guts, and by… not being Phillip Mercer, mostly.
"Firstly, Scrimgeour. He was killed by an exploding pie in this office. I suspect by the Department of Mysteries. Which is item two. They never explain anything, all travel in disguise, and the head if department is called Slicer. She's so mean she makes old Headmistress McGonagall look like a lollipop sales-witch. She will not answer any questions, but… a few years back, well, her forward estimate had Treasury in fits, then she turned up one day, just breezed in, said "It's happening, and we had to scramble the Obliviators, call the Muggle PM, and her department spent an extra three hundred thousand galleons. The Aurors who saw some of it… they had to be medicalled out. Nightmares. Don't worry about the scrambling, Minister Granger-Weasely set that up, they drill for it three times a year. Happened four times in twenty years. I hope you never have to do it."
Rubueus Dunbar swallowed "Oh" he said "This briefing is traditional then?"
"No, the traditional bit is never piss them off, they don't answer questions, and archives are nowhere near as helpful as you think. Don't ask archives too many questions, they get really rude." said Mercer "My Healer says I'll live an extra twenty years if I get out of the job, so good luck. And if you're ever having a bad day, here's something to cheer you up. Minister Granger-Weasley pissed someone off who turned the ceiling into a giant anus that shat into the office for four months. Always used to cheer me up, thinking, at least I'm not dead from a custard pie, or shat on."
Mercer picked up his crate "Oh, and don't worry. My first day, I was convinced I'd last four years, and be a footnote in history, and now I'm widely hated. 'Mericiless Mercer'. Still, compared to Minister Lufkin, we're only also-rans in history." Mercer smiled "Cheerio!"
"Erm, what did Lufkin do?" asked Rubeus.
"Used the imperious curse in staff meetings, and was murdered by her secretary using a sharpened scone." said Phillip Mercer, ex-Minister for magic, leaving the room.
Rubeus looked at the desk. It didn't look stained. But... this desk was the one… Minister Granger had shagged on, that had been shat on. Rubeus eyed the chair. Had Scrimgeour died in the chair, he wondered. Maybe new furniture was in order. Economically priced but not cheap looking. This stuff could be put in storage and put back, when he left the job.
Tenth: Rubeus Dunbar has a Department head turn up for a meeting, but he was expecting someone else.
The Minister for Magic, Rubeus Dunbar sat in his chair at the head of the table, looking at the circular table with his heads of Department sitting around it. There were little wooden place-markers at each segment of the table, and one, never used, said 'Department of Mysteries'.
His attention was focssed on his agenda, which he'd had his secretary, Harry post out two days in advance. He anticipated a nice quiet meeting lasting three hours, then lunch at the nice roped-off bit of the ministry cafeteria.
The meeting room door opened, and a grey-robed figure came in, closed the door and walked to the vacant seat and sat.
"Slicer, you came" said Rubeus, trying to sound pleased.
"My Name" buzzed the unspeakable "Is Falsidical. Slicer is no longer head of department."
"Oh, is Slicer dead?" asked Rubeus.
"It is not departmental policy to answer questions about staff movements" buzzed Falsidical.
"Erm" said Rubeus "It's just. Sliver was head of department for a long time."
"Slicer has retired to a research role" said Falsidical in that grating buzz.
"Well, I assume you've read the Agenda. Would you like to start first?" said Rubeus cheerfully.
"Yes" buzzed Falsidical "We refuse to answer questions about the activity of the department, but in keeping with Emeritus Director Slicer's policy, we submit the following forward estimates. One million, six hundred thousand galleons, with a contingency of four hundred thousand galleons, with a probability of twenty-one percent."
Rubeus's secretary Harry had noted that, Rubeus noted.
The rest of the meeting went quite well, considering. All the other Department heads gave nice little reports, handed in written estimates, and generally acted responsible.
Finance eventually tried to throttle Falsidical, whose robes repelled the clawing hands.
Falisidical proceeded to turn into a grey cloud and shoot out of the room through the keyhole.
"Vampire!" cried James Potter (the second), the head of DMLE.
Rubeus got some silver ankh symbol earrings just in case.
Eleven: Rubeus Dunbar has to organise the state funeral for Harry Potter, but Harry's widow is… disruptive.
And Harry Potter… famous for things long ago has a blue stamp on his official file. What does "RED" mean anyway. Why is most if it classified. Why does the head of the DMLE look panicky at the "RED" on his file. And why is it blue ink.
"I'm the minister, shouldn't I know?" asked Minister Dunbar.
"Uh, Retired, Extremely Dangerous" said Stones. "We started using it for retired Aurors who'd got a bit paranoid"
"Oh like that Moody guy" said Minister Dunbar "I remember my granny saying he was a very paranoid man, but Harry Potter well, he was the boy who lived, and then he owned a furniture shop."
Director Stones of the DMLE winced "Er, it's classified but the end of Voldemort, that was Harry Potter."
"As a baby everyone knows the story" said the Minister dismissively.
"No, in nineteen ninety-five" said Stones shaking his head "Before he finished school."
The door to the ministers' office exploded open into splinters and a old lady wearing a lot of black, with teary eyes came in "Why are you incompetents holding up Harry's funeral" said the little old lady, her blue eyes red and wet.
"Minister, meet Daphne Potter, widow of Harry Potter, RED" said Director Stones.
"Oh how do you do" said Minister Dunbar, approaching the widow and suddenly feeling very, very worried. His brain was trying to tell him sometime about the way Director Stone had introduced Daphne Potter.
"Ah, Madam Potter, what do you do?" he asked, feeling he should recognise her.
"Records" said Madam Potter sharply. "Dunbar, get this panjanduram on the road or suffer my displeasure."
'Records. Angry, mean old lady from Records' thought Rubeus Dunbar. Two stray brain cells connected and Rubeus Dunbar gulped "You're her" he said, backing away in horror.
The widow Potter nodded minutely.
"What's left to organise" said Rubeus Dunbar very loudly
"You were asking why we needed ..." asked his secretary.
"Full state funeral" said Minister Dunbar "Invite the ICW reps, send them portkeys."
"And..." said the Widow Potter.
"A cup of tea for Madam Potter, and organise red carpet for the whole grave-site." said Minister Dunbar.
Madam Potter sat slowly into a stiff-backed chair.
Minister Dunbar kept glancing at her. She was distraught, teary and clearly angry beyond estimation. His granny's interminable stories of her school days, full of horrific danger 'He was angry all year, picked fights with everyone'. Rubeus Dunbar hadn't ever really interacted with really upset people; but his politicians instincts were telling him that Daphne Potter would start casting unforgivables any minute now if tried. Come to think of it, the door to his office had been portal-locked and she'd blown though it… like it was tissue paper.
"Tissues, tissues for Madam Potter" said Rubeus.
Daphne Potter sat and fumed, a plan forming so destructive that every dark lord in history would be a pebble beside her mountain. She HURT, her Harry was gone.