The Ministry Chapter 12: Bolivia, a harry potter fanfic

This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter universe, which are trademarked by J.K. Rowling. I do not claim ownership of these characters nor the locations such as Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, etc. that are Rowling's creations.

I thank Rowling for the universe she has created that allows me to do something like this for my own entertainment and, hopefully, the entertainment of the readers.

A/N: Before we begin the chapter I would like to put up a quick warning that there are mentions of things of a disturbing nature in this chapter. It is not graphic but I felt it only right to put a warning beforehand.

Saying that I hope you enjoy the chapter.

"Morning Cho," Harry greeted as he strode towards his office, head immersed in the morning's edition of the Daily Prophet as he munched on an apple whilst walking.

"Morning Harry," Cho greeted as Harry stopped by her desk, finishing his apple and chucking the remains into the bin. "Your 9:15 is on his way, he had a brief meeting with Neville before. Your 9:40 is still on but you'll have to take him in Meeting Room 3. Your 10 o'clock cancelled-"

"Why?" Harry cut in as Cho read through his schedule.

"His daughter fell ill and so he's taking her to St Mungo's," Cho answered. "He asked if you could schedule him in for another day and left me his number."

Harry nodded to himself. "See if you can schedule him in tomorrow," he told his assistant. "And make sure to send my best wishes for his daughter's health."

"Will do," Cho responded, quickly checking through his schedule to look for any available slots. "You've got a fair few appointments throughout the day, I've left a preliminary schedule on your desk."

"Before or after the cancellation?" Harry asked.

"Before," Cho admitted. "That's why I told you now. Don't worry about missing anything, I'll call you when you've got a meeting."

Harry nodded again. "Great, is that everything?"

"Let me see," Cho murmured, examining her desk and picking up a scrap piece of parchment. "Oh, just one more thing. Warlock Woods called and asked if it was possible to meet with you today."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "David Woods?" he questioned in surprise. "I wonder what he wants."

"So shall I schedule him in?" Cho asked, a quill at the ready.

"See if you can get him in for 10 o'clock," Harry told her, setting her scribbling it down and reaching for the phone. "I wonder what he could want to talk about with such short notice," he mused to himself as Cho placed the call.

He was brought out of his introspective thoughts as Ron's office door opened and a tall, confident looking dark haired man walked out. "Harry," he greeted politely as he passed.

"Mike," Harry responded on reflex, completely taken by surprise by the man's appearance in the Ministry. Mike didn't stop to explain either, instead walking briskly past the stunned Communications Director and towards the lifts, quickly disappearing from sight.

Harry stared after him, completely still and silent, barely noticing Cho confirm his appointment with David Woods as he mulled over what the man's appearance might mean. It wasn't until he sensed movement behind him that Harry turned his attention away from the mysterious man.

"You saw him then," Ron commented from the doorway to his office.

"Yes, I saw him," Harry replied. "Question is, why did you see him?"

Ron sighed tiredly, a worrying sign for so early in the day. "He wanted to discuss the possibility of running for the Wizengamot," Ron told him.

"Seriously?" Harry questioned, taking a step closer to make sure he'd heard him right. "Mike Hardy a Warlock of the Wizengamot."

Ron shared his worried look. "That's not all either," he commented.

Harry frowned. "There's more?"

Ron glanced nervously to each side, checking to see if there was anyone listening in. Apparently not satisfied Ron gestured for Harry to follow him into his office, which Harry did.

"What's going on, Ron?" Harry questioned as Ron closed the door behind him, blocking out the sounds of work from outside.

Ron sighed. "I'm not sure how to tell you this," he said heavily, walking around his desk and taking a seat, gesturing for Harry to do the same. "Mike's not just planning to run for the Wizengamot, he's planning to run for the seat in Ashford."

There was silence for a moment as Harry took in the news. Then he laughed. "Seriously," he choked out. "He's trying to get elected in Ashford? He does realise that's David Woods's constituency?"

"I'm sure he does," Ron said but Harry just continued talking.

"Seriously, he thinks he's got a chance? Does he not realise that David has won that seat with about 70% of the vote? For three consecutive elections? The last time David was ever really challenged for that seat was when Pete Morris was still alive, and he was a local hero and still couldn't beat him."

"I know all this Harry," Ron spoke up with no small amount of annoyance in his voice. "And I told Mike just what you just said to me. But he's confident Harry, I don't know why but he is. He thinks he's going to win."

"He's going to get creamed," Harry said dismissively.

"I agree, he wouldn't stand a chance against Warlock Woods," Ron commented. "But what he said, the way he said it, I just think there's more to this."

Harry's expression turned serious. "You think he's got something on the Warlock?" he questioned, suddenly alert.

Ron shrugged. "I don't know what it is," he complained. "I just know there was something, something beneath his words that I couldn't quite grasp. Something that tells me that he knows more about this than I do."

Harry met Ron's gaze with a steady stare, an understanding passing between them. "David called my office earlier," Harry confessed, watching Ron's eyes widen in shock. "He wanted to arrange a meeting. I've got him pencilled in for ten."

Ron nodded slowly, his face pale. "Tell me how that goes," he said quietly. Harry nodded.

They stayed there for a moment longer until a knock interrupted the silence. "Harry," Cho announced as she stepped inside. "Todd Mitchell is in your office."

Harry turned to her slowly, before giving her a short nod. "I'll be right through," he told her, his tone signalling for her to leave, which she did, closing the door behind her. Turning back to Ron he got to his feet.

"It's that time of year, isn't it," he commented as he brushed down his robes. "The Wizengamot elections. I just wish they'd hold off a bit longer." Reaching the door, Harry glanced back at Ron. "I'll talk to you later."

Ron gave a short nod and, after a moments stillness, Harry opened the door and left the room, leaving Ron alone with his thoughts. Turning his attention away from the space Harry had just occupied his eyes allowed themselves to rest upon a large map of the British Isles, plastered on his wall with a sticking charm. Getting out of his seat Ron approached the map slowly, admiring it as his eyes scanned across the multiple constituencies projected. Slowly his eyes came to rest on Ashford, in the region of Kent, currently displayed as a grey box. With a glance at the still open doorway and with a heavy heart Ron raised his wand and tapped the block, causing it to glow red. Ashford was in play.

"Everyone, sit down," the Minister commanded as he walked into the situation room, all those inside having risen to their feet as one. "Of all places to waste time on this honorary action this is perhaps the worst. Kingsley, what's going on?"

"There has been an escalation in Bolivia," Kingsley announced, a map of the South American country projected onto the wall behind him. "On a regular patrol of the border between Bolivia and Peru US forces encountered Peruvian and Bolivian natives exchanging arms not far from the town of Desaguadero. Upon discovery the rebels attacked and the Americans responded in kind, killing most of the group whilst a few were able to successfully flee before apparition wards could be set up."

"How many Americans were killed," the Minister asked seriously, examining the map from his spot at the head of the table. "How many were critically injured?"

"There were two casualties to the American troops," Kingsley responded. "And a further two were rushed to a nearby medical facility and are now stable, although there are plans to transport them back to the US for further treatment."

"And the Bolivians," the Minister continued. "We're sure these were part of the rebel forces? We're confident this wasn't just a breakdown in communications?"

"Yes sir," Kingsley replied. "After the conflict American soldiers searched the rebels for any information that may prove useful and discovered that several held the Mark of Campo, a popular symbol for the rebel groups across South America."

The Minister nodded, trying to fight down the sickly feeling in his stomach as they continued to discuss the incident. "Did they find anything?"

"No documentation on their persons," Kingsley told him. "No to do lists, no diaries, nothing to clue us in to what might be planned, if for that matter anything is planned."

"What about weapons?" Amos asked. "What sort of cargo were they dealing with?"

"Mostly muggle weapons," Kingsley replied. "Shotguns mainly, a few machine guns, nothing particularly advanced-"

"Hold up a minute," the Minister cut in, sitting up straighter in his chair. "Mostly muggle weapons? There were non-muggle weapons there too?"

Kingsley hesitated. "Crudely designed and constructed magic bombs," he answered.

"A magic bomb, when detonated, temporary causes such a fluctuation in a persons magic that for an average of three minutes they are essentially powerless," Amos explained to the Minister. "When thrown the magic bomb affects all those within a five meter radius and has an increased effect on those with greater magical power, essentially turning their own strength against them."

"American experts have had a look at these attempts and have come to the conclusion that the magic bombs discovered would not have the desired effect," Kingsley said in an attempt to assure the Minister. "At best these bombs would have no more effect than a muggle grenade, except with less explosive force and perhaps the ability to slightly alter the control of their magic anyone in the vicinity might have."

"Should we be worried?" the Minister asked. "Is there any suggestion that the rebels have better magic bombs elsewhere?"

"We don't think it's likely, sir," Kingsley replied. "Although we can't altogether rule it out. This is the first time we've ever been able to get our hands on the weapons being traded so it's the only indication of the rebels' strength that we currently have available."

The Minister was silent for a while, quietly taking it all in. "Okay," he said softly. "Okay."

Noticing the Minister was staying quiet Amos decided to ask a question. "What's the state of Bolivia at the moment?"

"Stable," one of the men at the table, a specialist in South American communications. "Beyond the weapons dealings it appears as though Bolivia is just as calm and content as the Americans thought it was before these deals came to our attention."

"So what do you think that means?" the Minister asked, directing his question at Kingsley.

"We don't know," Kingsley said simply. "It could mean this attempt by the rebels is doomed for failure, it could mean there's something we're not seeing that the rebels are. It could be both."

The Minister nodded, although not looking happy at the thought. "Gentlemen," he said, rising to his feet and causing the rest of the room to do likewise. "Thank you. Please, keep me updated and if anything else happens, call me immediately."

"Yes sir," the room replied as one, the men and women staying standing as the Minister left the room at a slow walk, not sitting again until the doors had closed behind him.

"Hey, Harry, can you come in here for a moment?"

Harry paused mid-stride at the sound of the voice issuing from the office he'd just passed. Backing up a few steps Harry looked inside to see Neville sat by the desk, paper strewn everywhere in a haphazard manner around him.

"Hey Neville," Harry greeted cautiously, surveying the disaster sight the office seemed to have become. "What did you need?"

"Oh yeah," Neville said suddenly, as though he'd already forgotten why he'd called Harry in. "Yeah, I was just looking over the latest draft of the foreign aid bill. Article 7 subsection b-"

"Neville," Harry cut in, watching the man frantically search through his papers. "Neville, we talked about this yesterday, remember. I've had it amended. You've looked over it already."

If Neville hadn't been so stressed he would have blushed as he started to remember. "Right," he muttered, starting to move again after a brief pause. "We did look at it. Yesterday. With…"

"Amos," Harry supplied, still watching Neville with concern. "Hey, Neville, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Neville answered quickly before seeming to take a second to slow himself down. "It's just that it's Valentine's Day," he waved off. "I'm taking Alea out to a fancy restaurant so I've got to make sure I've got everything sorted before I leave."

"Do you need some help?" Harry offered, eyes scanning the desk. "I could take some of this off your hands."

"Thanks, Harry," Neville said with a relieved smile, his whole body seeming to sag as the pressure appeared to visibly lift off him. "Wait, aren't you spending the evening with Ginny?"

Harry shook his head with a grimace. "She had to work," he grumbled moodily, picking at the corner of one of Neville's papers. "We're celebrating tomorrow instead."

"Well, as long as you have the chance," Neville reasoned, trying to brighten Harry's mood. "Anyway, I've got all sorts of things around here. Bills for beef subsidies, a new energy plan, applications for Wizengamot candidacy…"

"Send those to me," Harry told him as he listened. "Ron and I are going to be looking over the board later."

"He's modified it?" Neville asked.

"He said he would." There was a brief pause as the conversation reached a natural break. "Anyway, send all that stuff over to my office and I'll take care of it. I've got a meeting right now."

"Have fun," Neville said, turning back down to his papers. "Oh, and thank you."

Harry nodded as he walked away, finally reaching his original destination: Meeting Room 2.

"Harry," David Woods greeted warmly, pulling himself with some effort out of his chair, leaning heavily on his cane to maintain his balance. "How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks David," Harry replied with a smile as he shook his hand, gesturing for the elderly Warlock to retake his seat. "Today's been about average so far, so I'm happy. No emergencies to deal with at any rate."

"Ah, but it's still early," David joked.

"One hour through the day," Harry replied with a grin. "Just ten more to go."

David laughed. "Haha, you really are something boy, you really are," he chortled. "Why, before you no-one at the Ministry would ever admit to having to work hard. They always wanted to seem superior to us mere mortals."

"The good old days of the Fudge administration," Harry agreed with a smile. "So, what can I do for you David. I must say I was rather surprised at the rather last minute call for a meeting."

"Yes, I must apologise for that," David said genially. "I've had a rather important decision to make and as such have had to spend an inordinate amount of time to ensure I choose rightly. And of course I needed to talk to you quickly, before I changed my mind."

Harry frowned, unsure of where the conversation was going. "I'm sorry, David, what was your decision?"

"August," David said, and stopped at that, seeming to have trouble deciding how best to bring up the topic. "It's about August. You know August, right?"

"I'm aware of the concept," Harry replied slowly, slightly worried at the ramblings from what he knew to be an incredibly eloquent and smart man. "Eighth month of the year, stuck between July and September, has 31 days…"

"No, not- well yes, that's all true," David replied distractedly, rubbing at his temple. "What I really was meaning was what is happening in August." There was a long silence.

"The Diagon Alley back-to-Hogwarts rush?" Harry guessed, still having no idea what they were talking about. "The start of the new Quidditch Season? What?"

David chuckled softly. "I really need to learn to be more direct," he commented drily. "It's something my wife keeps telling me, I really should learn. No, what I was actually talking about was something a bit more along our line of work."

"The elections," Harry replied, the idea suddenly clicking into place. "Wizengamot elections, 1st August. New session of the Wizengamot begins on the 15th."

"Yes, that's what I'm talking about," David said with a smile. "I've made a decision about this year's elections."

"You've got a suggestion for a candidate?" Harry asked, although from the look on David's face he had a suspicion he was wrong.

"No, it's not that," David said, his body language turning a bit more uncomfortable as he started to get to his point. "Harry, this isn't easy so I'm just going to come out and say it." There was a pause. "On the 15th August I plan to be unemployed. I'm retiring from the Wizengamot."

"The Home Economy Bill," Harry recited from memory. "A bill currently in the works to help British based companies compete with rival businesses from oversees. Set to increase not only the companies profits but the wealth of the nation as well as providing hundreds of jobs to the British citizens currently out of work. Does this ring any bells?"

"Yes," David answered calmly, planning to continue before Harry cut him off.

"Of course you've heard about it," Harry ranted, now pacing back and forth. "You're working with our legislative branch right now in order to craft this bill so we can have it submitted to a vote in the Wizengamot. You're just going to leave this?"

"Harry," David said, rolling his eyes. "You're overdramatising. The Home Economy Bill will be completed and voted on long before we reach the elections."

"What if it isn't?" Harry challenged.

"It will be."

"But what if?"

David sighed, regarding the frustrated young man before him. "Then someone else will take over from where I left off," he answered simply.

"Who?" Harry challenged again. "Who in the Wizengamot has got your leadership, your support to get a bill like this passed. Who in the Wizengamot has the drive to bring this to a vote?"

"Well, I don't know about the Wizengamot," David replied gently. "But I can imagine you'd have something to say about dropping this project."

Harry didn't say anything, knowing he couldn't argue with that logic. Pacing a couple more laps through the room Harry eventually slumped into his seat. "Why?"

David sighed, a tired old sigh which suddenly reminded him of his age. "I'm not a young man anymore," he admitted, though it pained him to do so. "My mind's still there but my body…" he trailed off sadly. "I can't continue like this."

"Is it because Mike Hardy is running in your constituency?" Harry asked suddenly, his voice sharp at the mere thought of the idea.

"No, Harry," David chuckled. "No, that's not why. I didn't even know Mike was planning to run, although I believe it's likely he decided to do so after getting wind that I might be leaving, rather than the other way around."

There was silence as they sat there, the young man sitting across from the old at very different stages in their careers. Who knows how long they sat there, in silence, but eventually they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Harry," Cho said as she cracked the door open. "The Minister would like to see the Senior Staff in his office." Harry turned slightly at the sound of her voice, taking in her words with no noticeable outward reaction.

"You should go," David told him after he refused to move. "It sounds as though the Minister needs you."

Harry nodded mechanically and rose to his feet, his mind clearly elsewhere as he stood there, perfectly still. "You'll stay?" he asked, slightly desperate as he looked down at the older man. "You'll wait for me? You won't go running off?"

David chuckled. "I promise you, I won't go 'running' off any time soon," he said, causing the lines around Harry's eyes to tighten. "I'll stay until you're finished with your meeting," he promised.

Harry let out a small breath he didn't know he'd been holding. With a single nod, he moved to the door. "Cho, could you get Warlock Woods a glass of water?" he asked her. "And…" he glanced back, noting the man's slightly wizened appearance. "And perhaps something to eat too."

"Oh please, don't bother, Cho," David said with a laugh. "I'm old, Harry, but I'm not yet totally infirm. When I need to eat I'll go visit the cafeteria. Otherwise, I'll remain right here." He hesitated slightly. "Unless of course you need the room, in that case-"

"We've got other meeting rooms free if we need them," Cho assured him, causing him to relax back in his seat.

"I'll talk to you later," Harry told him, his words sounding more like a promise as he glanced back at the Warlock one last time before closing the door behind him.

"Okay," he said softly, his voice slightly drained from the emotion of the previous conversation. "What's this meeting about?"

"They wouldn't say," Cho replied as she walked along side him. "They just asked me to get you there as soon as possible."

Harry thanked her as they split up at the Minister's outer office, where Harry was almost immediately directed through. Walking through the office doorway, making sure to close it again behind him, Harry walked in upon the Minister and the rest of the Senior Staff, waiting patiently for his arrival.

"Good, now that everyone's here," the Minister said, his voice heavy as he looked out upon them. "There's been a situation that I thought you should all hear about now before it reaches the press. There's been a coup in South America."

"Bolivia?" Neville breathed, shocked despite the fact that they'd been aware this was a possibility.

"No," the Minister replied with a sad grimace. "Peru."

The Senior Staff were stunned into silence, none of them having any idea how to respond to such an unforeseen happening.

"How?" Hermione asked, her face one of helplessness as she looked towards her leader.

"We were under the belief that neighbouring countries were supplying Bolivian rebels with arms and ammunition," the Minister told them. "What we weren't aware of was that Bolivia was not the final destination, but rather a passageway for groups in Brazil, Paraguay, Argentina, to smuggle weapons into Peru to aid with the overthrowing of their government."

The room was quiet as the Minister finished his explanation, none of them knowing how to react to the shocking news.

"I have yet to be fully briefed on the subject," the Minister informed them. "That's where I'm going now. I just thought you should be aware of this now, rather than later."

There was a quiet muttering of 'Thanks, Minister' before the room fell quiet again.

"I know this is going to be difficult for you to do, with your minds so distracted, but I need all of you to continue with your work as usual," the Minister said firmly, meeting each of their eyes. "The last thing we need now is to crumble because of something happening halfway around the world."

At that moment Blaise appeared in the doorway, signalling that it was time for the Minister to leave. Seeing this, the Minister gave one last nod to his staff before making his way out of his office. "Good luck."

The Minister walked swiftly through the halls of the Ministry, Amos following at his heels as everyone parted to let them through. They reached the situation room in no time and strode inside, quickly taking their seats at the table.

It was a mark of the severity of the situation that not everyone stood as he entered the room.

"What have you got for me Kingsley?" the Minister commanded.

"No less than twenty minutes ago rebel forces in Peru descended upon the main Ministry building in Lima, quickly overpowering the security forces and taking control of the building. It is unclear as of yet who the leader of this assault is, but it would be reasonable to predict that whoever he or she may be they will soon announce themselves as rulers of Peru now that they've removed the democratically elected Minister."

"How many casualties were there?" the Minister asked, trying not to think too much about the lives in danger as he was passed a collection of pictures taken from the scene.

"We can't tell at the moment," Kingsley answered. "We have conflicting reports, although all suggest there have been casualties, including those from higher positions in government."

"Do we have any suspicions?"

Kingsley sighed. "We believe the Health Minister is dead, as well as the Energy and Education Ministers. The Chancellor is still alive, although at this moment I don't believe he's seeing that as a positive."

"You think he's being tortured?"

"There have been reports of it, yes sir," Kingsley replied, causing a shudder to run through the room.

"And Minister Caro?" the Minister asked, dreading the answer as he saw the reaction in the room.

"Dead," Kingsley replied, his voice cold and empty. "Executed in the Town Square after being dragged out by his ankles."

"His family?" the Minister questioned.

"His son was executed with him," Kingsley answered. "His brother is in Bolivia and is currently receiving extra protection from US Armed Forces. His wife and daughter," Kingsley's breath hitched at this point, the normally unflappable man struggling to continue. "They're being held captive, and are believed to be being… raped."

There was silence in the room, all of them, even the most hardened and grizzled soldier among them, deeply affected by the news.

"Raped," the Minister repeated hollowly, his eyes focused on his hands clasped in front of him, trying to stop them from shaking as he tried to wrap his mind around what happened. "She's only twelve."

No one said anything to that remark. No one had anything to say. There was nothing that could lessen or somehow change what had happened.

Arthur continued to stare at his hands, the shaking growing more violent as, through all the pain and horror, a new emotion made itself known. Rage. Suddenly his hands were no longer shaking.

"What are our options?" he asked suddenly, surprising many in the room as he looked up with new found determination in his eyes.

"Traditionally in a situation such as this we would look to put the new regime into as difficult position as possible," Kingsley told him. "Make it so that they lose the support of their own people."

"Economic sanctions?" the Minister guessed.

"That's usually our first option," Kingsley agreed. "However in this case there is little we can do. We've never traded extensively with Peru, nor have any other parties who might be interested in defeating this new regime."

"So after economic sanctions what's next?" the Minister asked, feeling slightly impatient.

"We could ask the Muggles if they would be willing to bomb some camps," Kingsley suggested. "They'd have to be able to explain something to their people but I'm sure they'll manage."

"They did that with Iraq, didn't they," the Minister said warily. "That didn't work out so well."

"I believe the problems arose from having ground troops involved," Kingsley told him. "If we simply sent in fighter jets to bomb rebel camps they won't have that problem."

"They'll be able to find these camps?" the Minister asked. "They're not magically protected from such things?"

"Not the regular run of the mill camp, no sir," Kingsley replied. "The more established bases will be unplotable."

"So it's a pointless exercise," the Minister concluded, his voice rising. "Lets just cut to the chase, gentlemen. We all know where this is heading?"

There was silence around the room.

"Sir," Kingsley said hesitantly. "Are you suggesting a British Armed Force into the region?" The Minister's eyes met his.

"How would such an exercise go?" the Minister asked, his voice low as he spoke.

"I don't know, sir," Kingsley replied honestly.

"Then find out," the Minister demanded, rising to his feet and causing everyone else to rise with him. "I want full details for an invasion plan as soon as humanly possible. I'll be waiting." And with that he strode out the door, his cloak billowing out behind him, leaving a room of stunned and awed workers behind him.

"Minister," Amos said softly once they'd reached the safety of the Minister's office.

"Ah," the Minister cried out as though in pain, slamming a fist angrily against his desk, causing it to rattle. "Those bastards. How could they do this?"

Amos remained silent, giving the Minister a moment to work through his anguish. "Minister," he said softly. "I know you're hurting, I am too, but you've got to calm down. You're talking about sending troops to Peru, and if you do many of them won't return. You can't be mad when making this call."

The Minister didn't reply, instead choosing to lean heavily against the desk, panting as he tried to regain control.

"They came here," the Minister said softly. "Do you remember? They came here to have dinner with me and Molly. Manuel Caro, his wife and his daughter, Isabel."

The Minister chuckled softly. "What a fantastic young girl she was," he said, almost wistfully. "So excitable, she didn't stop talking all evening, even though she didn't speak any english."

"And the way Manuel looked at her," the Minister continued, a smile on his face. "Like she was the only thing in the world that truly mattered to him. The awe, the wonder at how something so beautiful and full of energy and happiness could possibly be his."

The Minister's expression became stormy. "These people will suffer for what they did," he vowed, turning to face Amos. "I will make sure they suffer, for Manuel and for Isabel." He looked at his old friend, his expression falling back into hopelessness. "How could they do this?"

Ron stood perfectly still, looking upon his interactive map with a pensive expression on his face, thoughts whizzing through his head at a hundred miles an hour. Names, numbers, they all flew before his gaze as he looked at the mostly blank map, imagining that each section held the same information he had stored in his head.

"You've started?"

Ron glanced at the door, not surprised to see Harry standing there, watching him. He nodded. Harry walked inside, approaching the map until the two of them were standing side by side.

"So, what's the key?" Harry asked as he looked over the map. "You've adjusted it since the Ministerial election?"

Ron nodded. "Blue is for constituencies where the current Warlock holds a lead of at least ten percentage points," he answered, eyes still examining the map. "Green is for a challenger with a 10 point lead, red's for undecided and white's for uncontested constituencies."

"What about grey?" Harry asked, noting a number of grey areas scattered across the map.

"Contested constituencies without polling data available," Ron answered. "I'm working to correct that."

Harry nodded. "So what's the prognosis?" he asked.

"It's still early," Ron commented. "Many of the challengers won't have even signed up yet. Campbell is suffering."

"We expected that," Harry said with a sigh. "He's not particularly popular these days, people think he doesn't do enough."

"Yeah, well, he's down 53 to 47," Ron informed him. "The challenger, Karl Hackett, his numbers will start to drop once the people realise he's no better than what they've already got."

"Will that be enough?" Harry wondered.

Ron shrugged. "Who knows." His eyes flickered to a different constituency. "What's going on with Ashford?"

Harry sighed. "David Woods is not running," he answered heavily. "I can imagine once the news comes out it'll be a bit of a free for all for his seat, although I expect Hardy to carry it now that he's already establishing himself in the region."

"Pity," Ron mumbled, scratching at the stubble that was growing on his chin. "Still, Hardy wouldn't be so bad. I just wish he was taking someone else's seat, like Carran or Davis."

Harry laughed softly. "When it comes time for him to go," he said quietly. "I'll miss him." He turned his attention back to the map. "Argyll and Bute is in play?"

Ron nodded. "Stockton has a challenge from Mark Bruce," he told him. "Bruce won't win, they like locals up there."

"Stockton isn't local," Harry reminded him.

"He does a good job pretending otherwise," Ron commented. "Hey, look, Alea's constituency is uncontested."

"Ynys Mon," Harry nodded. "Good news for Neville."

Ron chuckled. "Yeah, he could get lucky tonight," he chortled.

"If he can't get lucky on Valentine's then he never will," Harry commented, a small grin on his face. "You got plans?"

"Yeah," Ron said, for the first time glancing away from the map. "Josephine's cooking up a special Valentine's Day meal. As a matter of fact I should probably get going." He checked his watch. "I've got to get some champaign before I go over. And shave."

Harry chuckled as Ron stroked his chin stubble thoughtfully. "Well, don't let me keep you," he grinned. "I can imagine you've got an enjoyable night ahead of you."

Ron's smile slipped slightly as he looked at Harry. "Ginny's working tonight, isn't she?"

Harry nodded, a small grimace crossing his face.

"You guys got plans?" Ron asked.

"Tomorrow," Harry replied simply.

"And tonight?"

Harry paused, not sure what the answer to that question was. "I suppose I'll probably just go home and catch up on some sleep," he said lifelessly. "Or maybe stay in late and catch up on work. Who knows?"

Ron nodded, biting his lip as he watched Harry regard the map on his wall.

"Hey," he said suddenly, starting to move back over to his desk. "I'm going to head off but feel free to stay and look at the map for a bit." He pulled out a massive binder from the bookcase and dropped it onto his desk with a thump.

"Polling data," he answered to Harry's inquisitive look. "Everything I've collected so far for these elections."

Harry looked at the black binder with interest. "Thanks," he said, walking over and gently resting a hand on the binder. "This should make my evening more interesting."

"You bet," Ron said with a smile, whipping his cloak over his shoulders as he quickly stuffed whatever work he had left into his bag. "I'll see you tomorrow." He announced, striding briskly out the office leaving Harry standing motionlessly behind, looking down at the black binder, contemplating what it could mean.

The door opened after a few moments knocking and Ron was immediately struck by the beautiful smells of freshly prepared food, the only thing able to eclipse the scented wonder being the visual wonder standing before him.

"Hey you," Josephine greeted with a dazzling smile, leaning in to kiss him before he'd even made it through the doorway. "You got here at just the right time."

"Well, I'm glad to be punctual," Ron joked, nearly wincing at his poor attempt at humour. Josephine didn't seem to mind though as she sent him another beautiful smile before divesting him of his cloak, taking it from him before he had time to protest.

"Now now," she said sweetly as she walked back into his arms. "What's the point of Valentine's Day if I'm not allowed to treat you right?"

"I thought that was my job," Ron replied. Josephine laughed lightly before pulling his face down for a kiss, caressing his skin as she leaned into him.

"You've shaved," she noticed, half pleased, half surprised.

"Well, as you say, it is a very special day," Ron replied with his most winning smile. Josephine giggled before gently pulling away.

"I'll just go get the food ready," she announced as she started to walk towards the kitchen. "Why don't you open that bottle of champaign and we can get started."

Ron waited patiently until Josephine was out of sight before pulling out his wand and removing the cork, not trusting himself to open it the manual way. Walking over to the dinner table, already set up with a single red rose and a low gently flickering candle, Ron poured out two glasses of champaign as Josephine returned, carrying with her two portions of spaghetti bolognese.

They shared a few words before really digging into the meal, sharing secret glances and lightly touching each other's hands as they made their way through the meal, stopping only to share a smile and drink some champagne.

"How was your day?" Josephine asked as they wound down to the end of their meal, Ron trying to completely clear his plate without making himself look too disgusting an eater.

"Interesting, for sure," Ron replied, suddenly realising he had some sauce on the corner of his lips and wiping it off with a napkin as Josephine restrained her giggles. "I had some meetings about the Wizengamot elections in August."

"Already?" Josephine asked in surprise, having not realised it started so early.

"Yes," Ron nodded. "Mike Hardy came to see me about running for the Ashford seat, which I thought was weird since the current holder is incredibly popular. But it turns out David Woods is retiring, unfortunately."

"You're upset to see him go?" Josephine asked sympathetically.

"He's a giant," Ron responded with a smile. "Back in the days when the Wizengamot was old fashioned and out of touch he was the young idealist with the revolutionary ideas to bring the country forward. To lose him is such a big blow, to the country more than anything."

"I'm sure things will work out," Josephine said soothingly. "What about Mike Hardy? Will he be any good?"

Ron shrugged. "You never know until they get there," he commented. "Mike's smart and ambitious, he could either be brilliant or a disaster." Ron sighed before glancing up, realising sheepishly that he'd managed to drag their date into a talk about work. "Anyway, enough about me. How are things going with you with 'Run Free'? You haven't been out of the country for a while, have you?"

Josephine smiled. "Not since Mongolia," she answered, shifting in her seat with nervous excitement. "I'm really glad you brought it up, actually," she said. "I've just been offered this incredible opportunity and I really couldn't wait to tell someone."

"You've got another trip," Ron said, getting excited on her behalf. "Where?"

"It's a three month project in Columbia," Josephine told him excitedly. His reaction was not what she expected.

"Columbia?" Ron whispered, his face pale as he felt as though he'd been hit in the gut. "You're going to Columbia?"

Josephine stared at him in confusion. "Yeah, Columbia. Why? What's the problem?"

Ron gulped, trying to find his voice. "You've seen the news?"

It suddenly clicked. "It's not Peru, Ron," she assured him. "I know better than to go there."

"It'll be dangerous," Ron told her.

"It won't be," Josephine stressed.

"Columbia shares a border with Peru," Ron continued. "Hostilities will spread. Columbia will get sucked into this."

"Columbia's a stable state," Josephine replied. "It'll be fine."

"You've seen the news?"

"Yes, I've seen the news," Josephine burst out, suddenly angry. "I've seen what is happening in Peru. But the coup was in Lima. My project will be in Santa Marta, north Columbia. I'll be over a thousand miles away."

"It won't be safe," Ron argued back. "In situations like these a thousand miles is nothing."

"It's not nothing," Josephine pressed. "Listen, Ron, I'm going to Columbia. In a week I'll be taking an international port key to the Columbian Ministry in Bogota whether I have your support or not." She paused. "It would just be nice to have it."

Ron was silent for a moment.

"Three months," he said quietly. "In Columbia." He rubbed at his face with both his hands, trying to ignore the pleading stare he was receiving from across the table. Looking up, his eyes met hers, and he knew what he had to do.

"Marry me."

Josephine blinked, completely thrown by the abrupt change. "What?" she stammered out, blinking rapidly as though to clear away the confusion.

"Marry me," Ron repeated, voice just as firm as before. "Let's get married. We'll buy ourselves a house in the city and I'm sure I can get our wedding in the Ministry, you said you thought the ball room was beautiful…"

"Stop, Ron, stop," Josephine begged, closing her eyes tight. "What are you doing?"

"I'm asking you to marry me?" Ron answered simply.

"No, no you're not. You're telling me to marry you," Josephine denied. "And it's ridiculous. We've only been going out for three and a half months. We don't live together, I don't even have a key to your apartment. We don't really know each other."

"All of that can be fixed if you agree to marry me," Ron pressed. "We can have a long engagement if you want, it doesn't matter."

"Ron," Josephine practically begged. "You can't think getting me to marry you is going to convince me to stay."

Ron stiffened. "Why not?" he said, his voice low and serious.

"Because we're not ready for this," she told him, her eyes starting to tear up as she looked at him. "I'm going to Santa Marta, I've made my decision. And if you're so desperate to stop me that you'd resort to this…" she trailed off, raising a hand to her mouth to cover a sob. "Then maybe we need to reconsider… us."

Ron froze. "You're not…" he began but his voice seemed to desert him, his breathing becoming heavier as he felt his heart thumping painfully against his chest. "You're not going to end this because of what I said," he told her, trying as much to convince himself of the idea. "You can't end it for something stupid like this."

Josephine shook her head, tears starting to trickle down her cheeks. "It is stupid," she agreed. "But it's not meaningless. This is the biggest opportunity I've ever had. I could imagine being there and wishing you were there with me instead of stuck back here, but I can't imagine being there with you hating that I am. If you can't accept this is what I have to do then… then I guess that's it."

Ron sat stunned, not saying a word as he stared helplessly at his perhaps soon-to-be ex-girlfriend. He knew what he should say, knew that every fibre of his being was telling him to say he was okay with her trip, but he couldn't do it. So instead he stared at her, until she got the hint.

"You've made your position clear," she choked, trying to compose herself a bit to speak. "I think it's best not to drag this out."

Ron nodded, although he was still not entirely sure what he'd agreed to do, so he continued to sit there, until his sense of reason caught up and he realised it was already over.

Switching off his emotions in a way only an experienced politician can, Ron rose mechanically to his feet, trying to ignore the new tears that welled up in Josephine's eyes as he did so. And though it pained him, though it cut through his heart like a surgical knife, he turned his back and walked to the coat hanger. Not for a moment glancing back, Ron pulled on his cloak, trying to resist the temptation to turn around and take it all back. He turned to the door and walked outside, only glancing back as he made to close the door behind him, taking one last glance at Josephine as he shut her out of his life.

The ring of the elevator doors opening echoed clearly through the vast stillness of the topmost floor of the Ministry, spreading to every corner of the offices and cubicles where the most important decisions in the country's existence were made.

Ron stepped out of the lift, his feet falling softly upon the rich, self cleaning carpet laid down in the corridors as he strode through the deserted workplace. Though the carpet was soft and though his steps were light, Ron could hear the slight rustle with every step he took over the complete silence of the midnight Ministry.

Ron gently pushed his office door open, pausing to half close it behind him, blocking off his view of the deserted hallways. Ron wandered slowly around his desk, careful not to knock into anything in the darkness as he slowly settled into his office chair. Slumping down, his energy sapped, Ron stared unseeing at the wall, his face illuminated by the pale glow of the moonlight, beaming gently through the enchanted window.