AN: So, technically no new chapter. But, I redid this one and added a lot more. Should be much more interesting. What do you think of the unspeakables?
Shortly after she got the news that the Tonks' and Mr. Potter had departed the ministry, Amelia's door opened again.
"Well, was it worth it?"
"Shack, come in." Amelia says, waving for him to close the door, "It's a bit early to tell, but I think I've laid the pieces down properly. Mr. Potter let a lot of things slip without someone there to guide his tongue."
"But was it worth the trouble? They're going to know you're up to something. We've got a lot done working in the shadows, being careful and staying undetected. But Harry Potter- that's a risk. The spotlights follow him around." Shacklebolt cautions.
"I know. It was a risk, still is, but one I believe will pay off. We got confirmation on Quirrell. Nothing conclusive on Lockhart yet, but something will turn up." She flips a sickle toward Shack, "You were right about the creature."
"Merlin." He breathes, "a Basilisk. And he killed it?"
"No indication of its status, and he is a parselmouth. But probably yes." Amelia nods.
"Morgana's wet tit." Shack sighs again, sliding into one of the chairs.
"Makes you wonder if the rags were actually right, and he did somehow defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, doesn't it?" She says with a grin.
"No," Shack shakes his head, "We didn't buy it then and I still don't now. Kid was too young for anything. No, my galleons are still on some Potter magics. It's the only reasonable explanation."
They sit quietly for a moment before Amelia opens her mouth, "You know he questioned the policies. Asked the right questions when I explained the charter to him."
"Did he now?" Shack says.
"Uh-huh. The look on his face when it dawned on him. I hate that look." She adds.
"That's why you never go to the academy graduations, isn't it? Can't bear to see their faces once they swear the oath."
"We all join to fix our world. To fight injustice and do what's right. To punish those who break the rules." She says softly, mournfully.
"They did everything in their power to bury the definitions. To hide the truth from all who try to serve." Shacklebolt says.
"That doesn't excuse it." Amelia snaps, "Each year they join, bright eyed and ready to end the injustice lining our streets. Every year we coach them through the laws, the procedures. We listen to their dreams and hopes, knowing that they'll all turn to ash in their mouths. The DMLE is a dream killer."
"What choice do we have? We swore to follow the laws, swore on our magic and our blood." Shacklebolt says.
"None." Amelia says, closing her eyes. "Our only hope is this gamble you and I are running. This scam, barely on the side of legal."
"It'll work." Shacklebolt says.
"It better. Or they'll have to spend weeks scrubbing the stains off the main hall." Amelia threatens.
An Auror swears on their blood and magic to follow and uphold the laws, strictures, and decrees laid forth by the Ministry of Magic and the Wizengamot. No other oaths may come before these, and these oaths are irrevocable. You are a tool of justice for the Ministry of Magic, so mote it be.
Mr. Tonks saw Harry home, but he had to leave for a client at the office. To Harry's complete lack of surprise, there is a small stack of books on the coffee table.
"That's everything I could scour up on elementals." Andromeda says tiredly, "Give them a quick read and we'll talk." Harry settles down in the sitting room with the books and prepares for a lot of dry reading while the woman heads up the stairs to take a short nap.
It's not as bad as he feared, at least for most of them. One of the books in the stack had been a shorthand guide to the legislation around elementals. He may have dozed off once or twice getting through that one. But for the most part, they had been at least interesting and at most downright entertaining. Elementals, at least those who became known and written about, lived adventurous lives. Most of those mentioned had powerful gifts, tied to fire or water. A few plant or animal based elementals came up as well, but they proved very rare or better at hiding.
Indeed, Andromeda had been right about the Great Fire of London- it was both the fault of a fire elemental and a dark wizard. The elemental was trying to stop the dark wizard from harvesting his gift and they lost control of the magics. Flattened an entire wizarding neighborhood before spreading to the muggle sectors. The muggles were helpless and the magicals couldn't do more than slow it down. It did eventually burn itself out, but that was days later. The book cited no survivors, but the event was credited as the origin of fiendfire- meaning someone escaped to pass on the spell. Yet another case of books not being completely trustworthy. Harry had a thought about Hermione, wondered what she was doing, if she had thought about what he said.
He really did think she was a good friend with a few rough patches. And her academic focus would help keep him on track with his studies. But, if she couldn't learn boundaries- well, he was already replacing one friend. It would be nice to not have to reinvent all of his person at school, but being able to trust your friends was more important than keeping what was comfortable.
There was a massive upsurge in legislation after the London Fire, culminating in a registry of elementals held by the ministry. Quite a few protested at being forced to register and be known as different than a normal magical- and rightly so since the record of murdered elementals skyrocketed after registration. One author had gone as far as to call it a death list, and that parties were simply going down the list to cull them.
Harry expected more backlash, until he put it together. Elementals had been dying off for decades before then, at least 'among those of pure and noble blood.' And as less and less were born to established lines, the measures of control grew harsher. The 'proper' authorities needed to control these radical extremists with dangerous abilities. It was for their own protection, really.
The laws didn't care about how strong an elemental was, either. So long as they could tap into a source of power that others couldn't, the laws grew harsher.
As to the implications on Harry, they weren't good. The testimony of an elemental was inadmissible in court. Elementals could not protest, or organize. They could not run for office or hold positions of power in the ministry. They were required to inform potential employers about their status, to present themselves to the ministry to be checked yearly. They were ineligible for ministry aid or giveaways. They could not own house elves, or purchase stock in a company. They could not compete in professional sports, or register a business. Nor could they be awarded for services to the ministry. Frankly, Harry was surprised they could own property or attend Hogwarts. Since all banking was done through the Goblins, loans and inheritance was not something the ministry could limit, though he suspected they had tried. In short, being an elemental sucked.
The last bit he read was an infamous court case where a squib had been born an air elemental. They argued that their lack of magic meant that the laws did not apply to them, especially since they were not rediscovered by the magical world until their 30s. It was a sound argument, and in any other court they likely would have triumphed. Wizarding court, however, was anything but fair. They were executed; executed for 'stealing the powers of a properly blooded wizard.' Really made Harry love the world he was immersed in. Especially since that case was less than a decade old.
That had been the last recorded elemental- so far as the ministry knew. A squib born before the war with Voldemort, and whose recorded abilities amounted to a weak breeze. Harry was curious; "Were elementals being born and simply hiding it? Or were they truly dying out?"
"Harry?" Andromeda shouts.
"Yeah?" he asks back, having been scolded for shouting a few times. Of course, Andromeda can shout in her own home. But no one else may. Every time he points this out, she grins and tells him, "You can shout all you like when you own your own home."
Andromeda is in the kitchen, skimming through a potions book when he walks in. To his surprise, Ted is sitting at the table as well.
"Andy?" he asks, looking over at Ted.
"Hm? Oh, right. I got an order for a batch of potions, Harry, and I know you need the practice preparing ingredients." She says. Knowing when he's being voluntold, Harry opens the pantry and pulls on one of the aprons. By the time he returns to the table, Andromeda has the book propped open to the right page.
4 oz minced giillyweed, two flattened pillpuff pods, three squeezes of highflower essence…
"So how did you find the ministry?" Andromeda asks as Harry works and she adds ingredients to the various cauldrons. She indoctrinated him to her system, with each potion having its own set of knives and bowls of ingredients.
"It was strange," Harry admits, using his weight to crack a pillpuff pop under the side of the knife, "very pureblood supremacist. I got to keep my wand, but Ted-" He looks up.
"I've only been able to carry twice in my life in the ministry." The man admits calmly, "and that was for my oaths as a barrister, and when I responded to an attack during the war. I'm used to them taking it away."
"But why?" Harry asks, fearing he knows the answer already.
"Why not?' The man shrugs, "they'll do everything they can to make the lives of muggleborns and half-bloods as rotten as possible. Trying to drive us out of what they see as their world."
"Not to mention the fear factor." Andromeda says distractedly, "walking around, knowing that you could be cursed at any moment, and unless an auror actually sees it happen there's nothing they can do."
"Is that why you didn't fight?" Harry asks Ted.
He looks at his wife, "Yes and no."
"We never expected Ted to be allowed to advise you. He's a lawyer, yes, but not a wizarding one." Andromeda says.
At Harry's confused look, Ted continues, "I am allowed to draft agreements and settle disputes, as well as advise people on the legalities of the magical world. But, to actually stand before the wizengamot and argue; I'm afraid my blood isn't 'clean' enough."
"I went with you to show Amelia that we meant business. She knows the rules just as well as I do, and plays the game better. If she had let me stay with you in her office, it would have been a sign of great upheaval."
"Yeah, the ministry is falling one way or another." Andromeda jokes, "Ted went with you as a show of support. It was a political move, to show them that Harry Potter is more than just an empty title."
"It also," Andromeda shoots Ted a dark look but he continues, "was a show for myself. Anyone who saw me walk in with Harry Potter knows that I have something right. That means they'll respect the firm more, draw more clients in."
"You used me." Harry accuses without fire.
"Yes." Andromeda says, looking over a simmering cauldron, "Everyone does, and everyone will. You, Harry, are not only a celebrity, but a wealthy pureblood of two dwindling families. That snafu in Gringotts a few weeks ago only made things worse. They paid you for your services- and the going rate for a war wizard, given the lack of organized wars, is astronomical. They also waived all fees on your accounts for the rest of the decade. Not that your wealth means much except on paper. The statement they sent after the merging of the accounts had a number listed that I'm quite sure is greater than the gold in Gringotts."
"How's that work?" Harry asks.
"Really? I know we covered economics already." Andromeda says drily.
"But- I though the goblins had a gold standard still." Harry says.
"First off, mithril. Gold is too plentiful for them. Secondly, you have to understand something: the goblins never stopped warring. They just stopped fighting humans. They've been raiding and pillaging each other in their tribes for decades. There probably is enough gold in the combined goblin hordes for you to be able to withdraw every knut they credit to you. But that would mean one goblin tribe conquering all of the others. Why would that be a bad thing?" Andromeda asks.
"From what you've taught me, goblin culture, economy, and religion revolve around battle and war. If one tribe conquers all the others, then they'll have to find a new target to continue their society. And the most direct one would be wizards." Harry answers.
"Exactly. And if wizarding numbers and average power levels have been dropping, they might beat us instead of us them." Andromeda adds.
They receive an owl from the ministry the following day, politely requesting Harry drop by the Department of Mysteries. It makes Andromeda laugh. The letter is worded politely, sure, but the contents and veiled threats are quite gnarly. She admits it's a good showing of language and politics, before threatening to hang it in Harry's room.
The Tonks had a spare room in their house, ostensibly for guests. Harry stayed in it one night early in his lessons and then again, a few days later. Slowly, his things accumulated in the room- notes and books and writing supplies. His broom when Tonks asked him to bring it so she could try riding it. (Complete with eyebrow wriggle, of course.) At some point, it simply became easier to just stop going back to Privet drive every night. He asked Ted to help him move the last of his things, and pretended not to see the triumphant look in Andy's eyes when they returned.
So, three days after his initial foray into the ministry, Harry returns. This time, Ted does not accompany him, only Tonks, who drops him off with instructions by the elevators.
("Keep your pants on. Don't gamble anything you want to have when you walk out. If they ask you to try something, politely refuse. If you do end up gambling, clean them out. Never fold on an ace. Your shoe is untied. What are you- don't' bend down like a muggle! You're a wizard, act like it.)
Harry rides the lift down the levels, and then down further. As they descend, the people harry sees dwindle until he can only see a few robes down the corridors as the doors open. Then he stops seeing people at all. Twice the doors open and all he can see is long dusty hallways, but the voice doesn't announce he has arrived. Finally, the doors open to a short hallway with a door at the end and the elevator crackles, "Department of REDACTED"
Harry steps off the elevator, and the doors clang shut so fast behind him his robes billow. The mechanism whirs and fades so quickly, Harry is sure if anyone had been in the car they'd be on the floor. With nowhere to go but forward, he walks to the end of the hall and tries the doorknob.
"Name and purpose?" The door barks before he can touch the knob.
"What?" Harry asks, not expecting the door to interrogate him.
"Are you daft? Name. That thing your parents gave you when you were born, and what teachers shouted at you until the gave up and started swearing instead." It mocks.
"Harry Potter." He answers, "and I never- "
"Don't care." The door responds glibly, "Purpose? Or do you need me to define that too?"
"I'm here to be tested." Harry says.
"For intelligence? Congrats, you failed." It says.
"For being an elemental." Harry says.
"Oh. It's you. Interesting." The tone takes on a curious mien, and the door swings open. Beyond is a junction of three hallways, all lit by the same flickering torches, and all ending in other closed doors.
"Which way?" Harry asks, but the door doesn't answer. With no better indications, Harry goes straight ahead. The door doesn't react to his greeting, and the knob doesn't feel strange. It's not locked either.
The moment Harry pulls the door open, what feels like a hurricane lashes out. Wind shoves him bodily back the door flapping a few times before molding itself into the wall. Rain comes on the tailwinds, pelting Harry's face and exposed skin. Through narrowed eyes he peers into the room, noticing a red cord hanging on the far wall, not more than ten feet into the room. The room is shadowed, but the torches along the hall doesn't even sputter at the winds. Harry fights for every step, braced against the wind, leaning into it as he levers himself forward, around the doorframe, pausing to catch his breath plastered to the inside wall. The gale force makes breathing hard, and the water whipping around means he can barely see anything. He staggers, then crouches before finally crawling through the hurricane to the rope. He reaches up, arms straining to grasp the rope and tug-
The storm vanishes and Harry plops on the floor, flat on his face.
"Ow." He groans on the wet tiles, too tired to get up for the moment.
Soaked to the bone, Harry approaches the door to the left. He's worn out from fighting the wind and leaving a trail of drops behind him from his wet clothes. Hopefully this room will have some answers.
Harry opens the door and braces for whatever is on the other side. He opens his eyes and looks around when nothing happens. The room is empty, like the first one, with just a red cord hanging on the wall. Confused, Harry tugs on the cord and walks out. He doesn't see the shimmering jolts that leap from wet spot to wet spot where his clothes dripped on the floor.
Harry approaches the final room ready to demand some answers. He opens the door without preamble, and jumps when someone greets him.
"Hello, Mr. Potter. Please have a seat." The person is sitting at a table with a wand and a glass sphere sitting on a white tablecloth.
"Hello. I'm sorry, who are you?" Harry asks, "and what were those all about?"
"I am assigned to your case. Please, have a seat. Everything will be explained once the testing is completed." They say, holding out a gloved hand. Harry can't see any marks at all that would distinguish them. They're in a long blue robe with a deep hood, gloves covering their hands. Their voice is unnaturally pleasant, as if funneled through a charm. Whoever they are, they give nothing away.
"Is there a problem, Mr. Potter?" they ask after a moment.
"No, no problems, sir?" Harry says as he takes the offered seat. They give no reaction.
"Mr. Potter, please pick up the glass sphere with two hands and hold it in front of you like so." They demonstrate without touching the glass. "I will be casting three charms on you today in order to satisfy this portion of the test. The charms are a cheering charm, a sobering charm, and a mild lust charm. Do you consent?"
"A lust charm?" Harry asks.
"Do you consent?" they ask.
"Not until you explain why you're hitting me with a lust charm." Harry says, setting the glass orb down.
"Is there a problem, Mr. Potter?" they ask.
"Yes, I need to have an explanation before I let you cast a lust charm on me." Harry demands.
"Are you refusing to cooperate with the tests, Mr. Potter?" they ask.
"No! I just need to have something explained to me, that's all. Why are you casting these charms on me?" harry asks.
"Refusal to comply with testing procedures may result in ministerial authorized detainment and reprisal. Lawful, up to lethal force is included." They say, "Do you consent?"
"I- "
"Do you consent to these charms being cast?"
"Fuck." Harry swears.
For the first time, the unspeakable breaks, "Language," they chide.
Somehow, this eases Harry's paranoia, "I consent." He relents.
"Pick up the sphere, and testing will begin." They say, but don't pick up the wand. Harry grabs the glass rob and holds it in front of him. Only then so they reach for the wand.
"First, the cheering charm." The say before casting. The charm washes over Harry and he feels good. A smile breaks out across his face and his worries about the testing fall away. It's easy to put the hurricane out of his mind, to not wonder at the empty room. The ball between his hands warms slightly, and he's shocked to see gentle rain falling from a small cloud and pooling in the bottom of the orb.
"The sobering charm." They say, and immediately all of the pleasant effects of the cheering charm fade. The harsh jarring back to reality forces a frown on Harry's face. He knows the cheer was artificial, but that hardly matters to his feelings. What you know and what you feel are often at odds, and swaying one with the other is asking for a headache. Between his palms, the glass orb heats. The cloud swirling at the top of the orb puffs away and the water below dries out quickly. It feels like hot dry summer between his hands.
"The lust charm." The first thing Harry notices is the tension in his pants. It's not a pleasant feeling, but with his hands full he can't adjust. The second thing is the loud crack of thunder that sends both of them jumping. In Harry's hands, the glass ball is streaked with black on the side. A moment later, it happens again, and another jagged arc of carbon is scored on the side.
"Curious." They say, canceling the lust charm. "You may put the orb down on the table now." When Harry does, they set the wand down and stand, "Follow me." They walk to a door hidden in the shadows of the corner of the room and lead Harry down another set of halls. Harry would be lost if he wasn't right on their heels, the path twisting back and forth and up and down stairs until the stop in a small office.
"Have a seat, Mr. Potter." They instruct, moving behind their desk and sitting. Moments later, a folder pops up in a box labeled 'incoming'.
"These will be your results. Do you have any questions?"
"Loads." Harry says honestly.
"Very well then, ask. If I am allowed to answer, I will. If not, I will inform you that I cannot answer that question."
"Who are you?"
"I cannot answer that question."
"What was that door when I got off the elevator?"
"The department is guarded by an enchanted door, yes." They answer.
"What does it do besides insult you?"
"I cannot answer that question."
"Who enchanted it?" Harry asks.
"I cannot answer that question."
"Does it insult everyone?"
"Only those it finds deserving."
"When I entered the department, I came to three doors that lead to rooms. One of them was empty."
"Is there a question?" They ask.
"What was the purpose of the empty room?"
"There was no empty room."
"What was in that room?" Harry asks.
"That room was to test your resistance to electricity, and your control in manipulating it."
"And?"
"Do you have further questions before we discuss your results?" They ask.
"How did you fit a hurricane inside the first room?"
"I cannot answer that question."
"Did pulling the red rope stop it?" Harry asks.
"No."
"What stopped it, then?"
"I cannot answer that question." They say.
"What would you have done if I had gone to your room first?"
"Impossible. The doors you chose were irrelevant- the rooms would only appear in a set order."
"What kind of magic can do that?" Harry asks.
"Runes."
"Who can teach me to do something like that?"
"I cannot answer that question." They say.
"What was that glass ball we used?"
"It was a focusing lens, built to contain and visualize an elementals power. By focusing on it, you manifested your abilities inside of it. "
"Could you trap an elemental inside one of those?" Harry asks, already telling himself, "You cannot answer that question."
"Yes." Harry freezes in his seat for a moment.
"Are these any further questions?" They ask.
"How does someone become an unspeakable?"
"I cannot answer that question."
"No more questions at this time." Harry says after debating the merits of a stare down with someone whose eyes he cannot see.
"Very well." They say, opening the folder.
"Harry Potter possesses a dual affinity for weather and lightning. Hypothesis is that this was achieved October 31, 1981 as a result of the killing curse interacting with unknown magics. Note: Hypothesis denied experimentation authorization. 'Killing curse' is marked as a guess given lack of verifiable witnesses.
Weather affinity is categorized as mild, providing no benefits to the affects of the weather, merely shaping it via emotional pathways. Control is poor, as expected from a newly awakened elemental.
Guidance is meditation and puberty.
Do you understand?" they ask.
"Guidance?" Harry asks.
"Part of the assessment process is to provide assistance for elementals to gain control over their gifts. It is one of our oldest tenants. The recommendation for your affinity is meditation and puberty. Do you understand?"
"What about my other affinity?"
"Lightning affinity is categorized as primal, providing complete immunity to the affects of electricity. Subject observation records indicate this power has been used for combat purposes. Control is troll, power is volatile and subject possesses no ability to direct or contain power at this time. Recommendation: removal. Override: REDACTED
Guidance is usage and moving meditation.
Do you understand?"
"Removal?" Harry yelps.
"I cannot answer that question."
"Who authorized the override? Can you really remove someone's elemental affinity?"
"I cannot answer that question."
"I should have expected that," Harry mutters, "Moving meditation?"
"Many cultures have derived practices for controlling the flow of energy in one's body. These practices have been lumped under the association of 'moving meditation'. Examples include Tai chi, fencing, ballet."
"No more questions." Harry sighs.
"Final conclusion: Mr. Potter is a danger to the lives of those around him so long as he cannot control his lightning affinity. If he cannot obtain sufficient control before reaching his majority, the consequences are clear: execution. This file, and all other attached to it are sealed under the orders of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." They read aloud.
"Sufficient control?" Harry asks.
"Undefined at this time. More information may be revealed at reevaluation."
"The file is sealed?"
"By orders of the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, no one may view, possess, or learn of this file beyond those involved. I will be assigned to your case until it is unsealed, or you perish upon achieving your majority without sufficient control over your affinity and the record is unsealed."
"No pressure." Harry says.
"Is there anything else I should be aware of?" he asks.
"I cannot answer that question." They say.
"How do I get back to the elevator?"
"Exit this office and turn right. Open the second door on the left, and you will exit on the main floor of the ministry." They say.
"How?" he demands, his brain shorting out at the depth and the turns and, and-
"I cannot answer that question." Harry swallows his muttered curses, "Goodbye, ma'am." Still no reaction from the unspeakable.
"Wait! One last question, who can I talk about this testing with?" Harry asks.
"No one."