2. Public personas

Papers under her arm, Hermione went straight down the corridor that led from the cafeteria, not pausing until she reached the stairs. The stairwell was silent and moodily lit. There was a chill of abandonment about it as she spiralled down and down, three flights to her floor.

The chatter of conversation hit her as soon as the door was open. As she walked up the corridor, Fuchsia Drummond jerked her head around in mid-conversation, her ponytail swishing. I swear she spends more time out here than in her office.

'I'll tell you in a minute,' Fuchsia said to her conversation partner, a grey-eyed witch whose name Hermione didn't know, touching her softly on the arm and turning to head off Hermione before she reached her office door.

'Harold wanted to speak to you before the press conference,' she said. Did she just roll her eyes at me? 'I told him I thought you were on a break.'

'I was, but I'm back now,' Hermione replied curtly. 'Did he say what it was about?'

'He wants your memo on legal limits for spider venom in potions.'

She still always submitted her work on time.

'Oh that?' she said, 'It's ready. I'll just drop it into him. I wanted to give it to him this morning.'

'Oh well, that's fine then,' said Fuchsia, her mouth taut as she fingered the file she was holding against her chest.

She swivelled on her heels and went back to the grey-eyed witch, who was continuing to loiter in the corridor. Hermione could feel her watching as she opened her office door.

Delivering the memo to Harold Hawkwell, her boss, took scarcely more than a minute as he was about to head down to some pre-press conference briefing.

'Aren't you going, Hermione?' he asked as he gathered various papers into a portfolio. 'It should be quite a spectacle.'

He was a tall, sober, spindly wizard with grey, side-parted hair, a narrow, ruddy face and almost black eyes. There was still something kindly about the way he spoke to her. He hasn't quite given up on me.

'I may well, if I finish my work,' she replied, half-turning back from the door.

When she returned to her office a visitor was standing in front of the door: a tall, rather severe-looking red-headed girl was scrutinising Fuchsia Drummond and her companion through large, black-rimmed glasses which magnified her eyes. Her hair was tied up in a tightly coiled bun and she wore a grey pinstripe suit.

'Come in, Argenta,' said Hermione, smiling at the girl.

'Does she even have an office?' remarked Argenta once they were inside.

'Her name's on the door of one of them at least,' replied Hermione, already ashamed at the disorder in hers. She could never quite keep it under control these days.

'I didn't know she's friends with Lorelei Boykin,' said Argenta, suddenly producing what looked like a newspaper clipping as if from nowhere.

'Is that who she is?' said Hermione. 'I've heard the name. Isn't she one of Myra Tremayne's little helpers?'

'That's right,' said Argenta. 'She was in my year at Hogwarts. Slippery and two-faced.'

When Hermione had developed a sudden interest in witchfinders, she quickly found that she had very few allies within the Ministry.

'You need to speak to our witchfinder,' Kingsley had told her as he glanced over the collection of photos of anti-wizarding graffiti she had spread across his desk.

'Our witchfinder?'

She must have pulled a face, because he smiled gently at her.

'Well, not a witchfinder in the strict sense of the term. Shall we say, a witchfinder who finds other kinds of witches.'

She hadn't quite felt like smiling. Instead she did her best to screw her face into a serious expression.

'You mean he's sympathetic to us?'

'Insofar as he's sympathetic towards anyone.'

'But he works for the Ministry?'

'Not exactly. He's a kind of outside contractor. He investigates occurrences of magical activity and pseudo-magical activity around the country and keeps us informed of what he finds. It's mostly pseudo, by the way. And since it mostly turns out to be people playing at being wizards, it's not all that interesting to us.'

'How come he knows about us if he's a Muggle?'

He had touched her on the arm for a second.

'Be sure not to use that word around him. He doesn't like it. As I understand it, magic runs in his family. Though he's never been seen to do magic.'

'So he's a witchfinder who's actually sort of a real wizard?'

He made a gesture like shrugging his shoulders.

'Like I said, he's sort of a Ministry-approved witchfinder.'

She couldn't help smiling at the idea.

'I have to admit that I don't know that much about him myself,' Kingsley continued, frowning as he read the text on one of her photos. 'I've seen him no more than two or three times at most. And when I did meet him he wasn't very forthcoming. Not the most approachable of people. But anyway, we have a liaison officer. She can give you all the details and introduce you.'

'A liaison officer?

'Attached to Muggle Relations.'

'Who is it?'

'Her name's Argenta Coyle. Know her?'

For the second time she could feel herself pull a face. Kingsley smiled.

'I see you do know her.'

'How's work?' Hermione asked.

'A low priority, as usual,' Argenta replied.

Despite her rather prickly reputation, Argenta Coyle had always been surprisingly pleasant to Hermione, partly out of guilt, she claimed. If I'd have had my head screwed on properly that day, Harry Potter would have been found a year earlier.

Argenta held out the newspaper cutting for her to take. Hermione unfolded the piece of paper and read the title of the article out loud.

'Suicide attempt on town bridge averted'

She looked quizzically at Argenta.

'It's the last bit that you'll find most interesting.'

'… Fortunately, local student Lilly Herrick, who was crossing the bridge at the time, stopped to try and convince the man to come down off the bridge and keep him talking until the emergency services arrived'.

'Do you reckon it's her?' Argenta asked.

Hermione re-read the article twice in quick succession.

'I think it must be,' she replied trying to control the excitement in her voice.

'If it is her,' said Argenta, 'do you think she was somehow involved in putting the man on the bridge in the first place, or was she actually doing a good deed?'

'You know I think she might have been doing a good deed,' Hermione replied, holding up the newspaper clipping.

'I suppose that was before she had her epiphany and decided that doing bad is good for you?' Argenta replied, pointing at the clipping.

'Could have been,' said Hermione. 'But then again, who knows?'

She re-read the article again, more and more convinced that this was the same Lillian Herrick who was planning to expose wizarding society.

'Can I keep this?' she asked.

'Of course,' said Argenta. 'You hold the file on the Seven-Pointed Circle, not us.'

Hermione folded away the article and put it in the file she had been keeping for the past two years. It consisted mainly of the largely fruitless report she had written on the witchfinders and Lillian Herrick, plus countless other pages of notes on the Seven-Pointed Circle.

'The other thing I wanted to ask you,' Argenta continued, more earnest now, 'is whether I can persuade you to come to this press conference with me.'

'Everyone keeps asking me if I'm going,' Hermione replied.

'Well, it is a major event after all.'

'It is, it's very serious.'

In truth she couldn't see any real reason not to go. The attempted assassination of the Minister of Magic was very serious indeed. When she had heard the news some two weeks earlier, she had scarcely been able to think of anything else, like everyone else, she supposed. But when she had heard that Kingsley Shacklebolt's life was not in danger, and that he would be probably back at work in a few weeks at most, her usual preoccupations had begun to flood her mind again. Suspicion had fallen on the Citadel, a political movement set up to warn wizards of the threat posed by the non-magical world. Instead of seeing muggles as weak and inferior, the Citadel saw the non-magical world as powerful and evermore suspicious of wizards' existence.

'I never thought Tobias Destrument would go this far,' said Argenta.

The Citadel's leader, Gondulph Belhaine, was Tobias Destrument's grandfather. Hermione was still rather ambivalent towards Tobias Destrument, and regarded his sister Enid with downright suspicion, but she had been the one to first sound the alarm about witchfinder activity, and she had given the Citadel its first publicity, before it even had a name. She was tainted by association.

'I know he's in Belhaine's inner circle, but I still can't completely believe that he was involved,' Hermione replied.

Hermione had arranged for Isaac and Argenta to meet Tobias Destrument to discuss Mr Morley and the new vow wizards. A sort of collaboration had grown out of it, one that once again put the Anti-witchfinder Office in a bad light.

'I'd be careful expressing that view round here,' said Argenta, giving Hermione an arch look as she got up and headed for the door. 'Goodness knows what Azkaban is going to do to Tobias's good looks,' she added, glancing round at Hermione from the door.

'Why are they putting the prisoners on display anyway?' said Hermione, half thinking out loud.

When she had heard the announcement, it had struck her as a particularly bad idea, and unlikely to have been Kingsley's.

'It is a crackpot idea,' said Argenta. 'A sign of weakness more than strength.'

'Then why are you going?'

Argenta smirked.

'Like I said, I want to get a last look at Tobias before Azkaban wrecks his looks. So you're not going because you don't approve?'

'That's not the only reason,' Hermione replied, a little hesitation in her voice. I do have another reason for not wanting to go: I don't want to see Harry there.

'Don't you want to see how the undersecretaries are behaving while the Minister's out of action?' Argenta continued. Apparently she had taken it on herself not to leave Hermione's office until she had convinced her to come with her.

'Don't say out of action,' Hermione retorted. 'Kingsley's going to be fine.'

'Good,' said Argenta. 'We need him back in charge. So will you come?'

Hermione chewed her lip.

'Well, I suppose if nothing else I should see how the undersecretaries are behaving.'

Argenta started to head for the lifts, but Hermione guided her in the direction of the stairs, which were accessed at the end of the corridor through a small, cramped-looking door. Hermione opened the door and held it open for Argenta, who stepped out rather circumspectly into the stairwell.

'It's perfectly safe,' Hermione remarked, which earned her a look from Argenta.

The Aula was another four floors below Hermione's floor, but still a few floors above Argenta's. They descended the spiralling steps quickly and exited the stairwell via an identical, Alice in Wonderland-type door.

Straight away they were caught up in the flow of wizards and witches passing down the corridor. Up ahead the great doors of the Aula were flung wide, and a stream of people was passing inside.

The Aula was already more than three quarters full but the podium was still empty. High above the empty podium was a large and hitherto opaque portal, which for the time being shimmered darkly. Hermione hesitated and stepped out of the flow of people passing inside the hall and scrambling for seats, pulling Argenta with her as she did.

'Not having second thoughts?' said Argenta. 'Supposedly this is going to be the event of the year.'

'It's not that,' replied Hermione distractedly, scanning the far end of the hall for familiar faces. 'I'd just rather stay at the back.'

Argenta looked at the last rows of seats in front of them. They were filling up rapidly. Just then someone started waving at them from the far end of the very back row.

'It's Caius Hanmer,' Argenta remarked sardonically. 'Sure you want to sit with him?'

'I suppose it can't hurt' Hermione replied.

Caius Hanmer had always maintained that he didn't want to work for the Ministry. But even he relented when Harry himself encouraged him to join the Auror Office. Ron had quietly taken umbrage at this. He hadn't said anything, but she had seen the look of distaste on his face. While Caius still seemed to greet life with a generalised smirk, he had quite happily applied himself to a job at the bottom of the department.

'Didn't think you were coming,' he said, his remark more directed towards Hermione as they sat down in the two free seats next to him.

'Well, I couldn't really miss it,' she replied, with not much conviction.

'You heard they arrested Tobias Destrument?' Caius continued.

'I heard,' said Hermione.

'Did you think they'd get involved in something so deranged as trying to assassinate the Minister of Magic?' said Caius.

'No, I didn't,' Hermione replied.

'He's a bit strange, old Belhaine,' said Caius, 'but I have to admit I never thought he was this dangerous.'

'We don't know how dangerous he really is yet,' said Hermione, 'or whether he actually ordered the assassination. Which is another reason why putting prisoners on display before any sort of trial is not a good idea.'

At this point a man in the row in front of them turned round and stared at them. He was a large, well-built man with receding hair and a black goatee beard. Hermione recognised him as Elias Rathbone from magical maintenance.

'The man orders the assassination of the Minister of Magic and you don't think he's dangerous?'

'We don't yet know for sure that he did,' Hermione replied.

'Ah, you would say that,' the man replied, scowling at her.

The man sitting next to Rathbone, a ruddy-faced, excitable man named Weaver, also turned around and joined in.

'Do you think the Aurors would go all the way to Belgium, roping in the French and the Belgians, and have a massive battle with Belhaine and his cronies if there was nothing in it?' said Weaver, who also worked in magical maintenance. 'One of them nearly got Harry Potter too.'

'I thought you worked in the Auror Office,' said Rathbone, eyeing Caius contemptuously. 'You don't seem to know much about what's been going on.'

'So I heard, one curse was fired,' replied Caius. 'That's hardly a battle. And another thing, Belhaine senior wasn't one of those arrested, or not yet, anyway, even though he was in the house.'

'Wasn't he?' Weaver exclaimed, apparently aghast.

'Xavier Belhaine was arrested,' said Hermione. 'His father wasn't.'

'Well, like he said, not yet anyway,' said Weaver, who seemed slightly deflated. He and Rathbone glared at them and turned away.

'I reckon most people are here just to get a look at the prisoners anyway,' Argenta remarked.

'That's probably true,' replied Caius.

'I suppose it's the next best thing to taking Voldemort alive.'

'That would hardly have been possible,' muttered Hermione.

'Anyway, the rest are here to see how the mice are playing while the cat's away … aha, the show's about to begin,' Argenta continued, lowering her voice to almost a whisper.

The lights went very low and the shimmering portal began to glow and pulse ominously. When the lights came back on the podium was full. To Hermione's surprise, all the top undersecretaries were present: Luther Penhaligon, Undersecretary for Foreign Relations, Myra Tremayne, Undersecretary for National Wizarding Welfare, Mortimer Knott, Harold Hawkwell, even Tadgh O'Dowd, the Undersecretary for Finance, looking stony-faced out at the audience from his seat. They must all be here because Kingsley's not yet out of hospital. Then, sitting among the undersecretaries, apparently unphased by the scale of the proceedings, was Harry, there on behalf of the Auror Office in Kingsley's absence. The other end of the podium was taken up by foreign guests of the Ministry, representatives of the French and Belgian Auror offices. The French delegate was none other than Henoc Lutumba. He was in conversation with Mr Godefroid. the Head of the Belgian Aurors, and his rather elegant interpreter, a Miss Dellezelles. Hermione's gaze shifted from the podium party to the front row of the audience, where she could make out a trio of redheads sitting next to each other: Ron, Ginny and their father.

A general hush descended over the crowd as Myra Tremayne stood up and went swiftly to the lectern emblazoned with the official Ministry logo.

'How come they agreed to let her speak first?' Caius whispered.

'Is that supposed to be a sign that she's the Minister's stand-in?' Argenta added.

'She probably has the most support in the Wizengamot,' Hermione replied tersely.

Someone in the row in front turned round and shushed them.

Myra Tremayne swept a wavy lock of silvery blonde out of her eyes, coughed delicately and fixed the audience with a look of confident intensity. In a two-piece cream-coloured suit, overly high heels and perfectly (and presumably magically) undulating hair, she was a glamorous, but highly un-witchlike presence in the Ministry. The only obvious sign that she had anything to do with wizardry was the jagged silver necklace she wore, which had at its centre a diamond-encrusted rendering of the Gryffindor lion. She was (as far as Hermione had heard) somewhere in her late thirties; certainly her face was youthful, her complexion bright, her eyes brilliant blue. Only her nose was a little long and her chin too pointed. She was known to be Muggle-born, for which she and her family had been tortured by Death Eaters. The cynics in the Ministry claimed her rapid rise was the result of her status as a kind of Muggle-born semi-martyr.

In previous years, Hermione had earned comparisons with Myra Tremayne, with them both being seen as Muggle-born high flyers. Not anymore. That was at least one reason for Hermione to be grateful.

'First of all,' she began, her voice tremulous with concern, 'I want to bring you the good news that our Minister of Magic is recovering well and should leave hospital in a few days.'

It was well known that the curse intended to assassinate Kingsley Shacklebolt had fortunately not done him any lasting damage.

'So make the most of your time at the top while you can,' Argenta muttered, her gaze fixed on Myra Tremayne.

'Secondly I can confirm that the conspirators responsible for the attempt on the Minister's life are under arrest and have already been transferred to Prison A1, where they have joined Silas Lashburn, the would-be assassin...'

'Why don't they just call it Azkaban?' Caius whispered.

'... Thanks to very efficient cooperation with the French and Belgian auror offices, who I'm very pleased to say are represented here this afternoon, the threat to the Ministry has officially been brought to an end.'

'It's been rebranded,' Argenta replied, also in a whisper.

'... The Auror Office will give you the full details in just a moment, but what I can tell you is that the conspiracy seems to have gone right to the top of the so-called Citadel movement. As a result, some key members of its political leadership are among those under arrest. However, contrary to certain rumours, Gondulph Belhaine was not one of those arrested.

Before I hand over to my colleagues, I'd like to state very clearly that the Citadel movement has not been banned. We believe in freedom of speech and acknowledge its members' right to express their political views. This is the express wish of the Minister of Magic himself. As for myself, all of you know that I have strong reasons for disagreeing with Gondulph Belhaine. No one knows better than me that non-magical people are no threat to wizarding society. What's more, I know only too well what happened the last time wizards set themselves in enmity against non-wizards. But the nature of the allegations against the inner circle of the Citadel movement raises the spectre of something deeply worrying in our society: the spectre of political violence. And so I would urge every one of us to ask ourselves whether we want to allow this back into our society.

I must also reiterate that the decisions of the Wizengamot on nominations for the post of Minister of Magic are the result of exacting deliberation by the most learned and experienced instance in wizarding society. We have such a body precisely so that our society cannot be ruled by the whims of one person.

So the lesson for all of us is this: no to political violence, no to secret paramilitary organisations, no to defiance of the decisions of our most senior and trusted stewards, no to retribution and no to intolerance!'

Applause quickly broke out in sections of the audience then spread throughout the hall. Myra Tremayne stepped down from the lectern and walked back across the stage. She stopped next to Harry, put her hand on his shoulder and beckoned for him to take the floor.

'Harry Potter over Luther Penhaligon?' Argenta remarked. 'Is she buttering up the Auror Office or something?'

He did lead the operation to capture them, Hermione thought to herself. But she said nothing.

'On the other hand,' Caius replied, 'maybe she's hoping Harry will be overshadowed by her inspiring speech.'

Harry sauntered across the stage and installed himself at the lectern. Three years had passed since his disappearance and two years since his return, and any allegations about him had long faded. His long-term partner Ginny Weasley was present in the first row of the audience; there was no doubt they made a charming couple. The candid interview that Harry had given to The Daily Prophet on his return had done the trick, making him the subject of sympathy for the terrible accident with a stray memory charm, coupled with great relief that the Chosen One was back and well again. Despite some misgivings, the Weasley family had played their part to the full in corroborating the story that Hermione had concocted on the way back to the Burrow. Since then, Harry Potter's rise at the Ministry had been the most natural thing in the world.

'I'm not going to go into too much detail about the ins and outs of the operation,' he began, looking out calmly over the assembled audience, his eyes sharp and his voice warm and assured. 'All I want to say is that our job was made much easier thanks to the cooperation of our French and Belgian counterparts, who are represented here on the podium today.'

At that point he gave a quick salute in the direction of Henoc Lutumba and Mr Godefroid.

'What basically happened was that last night a combined team of French Aurors and Belgian Aurors and our own Auror Office raided a house in the port district of Ostend. Henoc Lutumba, who is with us here today, coordinated the French Auror team, while Mr Godefroid, the head of Belgium's Union Royale des Sorciers, provided us with the logistics and local intelligence to make the operation a success. So I'd like to thank them straight away for their contribution.'

Dashing as ever, Henoc Lutumba smiled to the crowd, while Mr Godefroid proffered the briefest of nods. Mr Godefroid was a small man with jet-black hair and a severe moustache. He listened as his interpreter, a tall, smartly dressed blonde woman, whispered in his ear. From time to time he turned to Henoc to whisper something to him.

The crowd was quiet. Harry seemed to command their rapt attention.

'As you probably know, Silas Lashburn was arrested in London three days ago. And as you probably also know, Silas Lashburn is a member of the Citadel political movement. This didn't lead us to automatically conclude that the political leadership of the movement was involved. But after questioning Silas Lashburn, it became clear that there was some sort of involvement, or coordination from the top, so we obviously needed to question some of the leaders of Citadel. But they were all mysteriously gone from London and, as it turned out, had even left the country. At this point we received intelligence that the party leadership had gathered in Ostend in a house that belonged to the Belhaine family. Last night, after watching the house for over 24 hours, we went in. After a brief altercation, six people were arrested and are now being held in Azkaban.'

'See, Harry still calls it Azkaban,' remarked Caius.

'Do you think that was a dig at Myra Tremayne?' asked Argenta.

'I don't think Harry plays that kind of game,' said Caius.

Hermione was grateful to Caius for making it unnecessary for her to speak. Even in front of Argenta. As for Caius himself, she didn't know what he thought about her and Harry. He had never asked her and she didn't want to bring up the subject herself.

'Maybe, but all the others do,' Argenta replied. 'Though I admit, I want to believe that he's not going to get tainted.'

He won't.

'That's really all I wanted to say,' Harry continued, a distracted tone slipping into his voice. 'For the rest of the proceedings, I hand you back to my colleagues.'

He stepped quickly down from the lectern and went back to his seat, choosing a route that took him across the back of the stage. This time it was Luther Penhaligon who crossed the stage, swinging his wand in his hand as he strode to the lectern. He was a tall, massive figure of almost Hagrid-like proportions, bald with a red beard and probing blue eyes.

'It's a shame that the Minister has ended up with these people around him,' Argenta remarked. 'Excepting Harry Potter of course.'

'Kingsley didn't have much choice,' whispered Hermione in reply.

Rathbone and Weaver both turned around again, casting suspicious glances at both Hermione and Argenta. Hermione subtly elbowed Argenta, who seemingly ignored her. It's impressive how little she seems to care about her career prospects. Or possibly even her safety.

It was true that Kingsley didn't have a choice. The current undersecretaries had never been close to him in the old days. Most of his best and closest advisers had died defending Hogwarts. And even if he had been able to appoint them, he would have faced accusations of cronyism from every quarter. The defeat of Voldemort had also resulted in the purging of large numbers of Ministry officials who had collaborated too eagerly with the Death Eaters. Even Hermione had to admit that some of the collaborators had been competent officials. And in the rebuilding after the fall of Voldemort, those who had refused to serve Voldemort had to be seen to be rewarded. People like Knott, Penhaligon and Harold Hawkwell couldn't have been passed over in the reorganisation of the Ministry. And Hermione had to acknowledge that they were intelligent men, competent managers and had all genuinely opposed Voldemort. They could hardly be criticised for wanting their merits to be recognised.

'Anyway,' said Argenta in a suddenly much louder voice. 'I hope they do make Harry Potter the next Minister of Magic.' Hermione almost laughed out loud.

I don't. But half the Ministry thinks it's a done deal.

'You all know about the Ministry's policy on transparency,' Penhaligon began in his brusque, quasi-military style. 'I suppose you might say that the portal high above us is the physical embodiment of that policy. The six prisoners arrested last night in Belgium are, as you've all heard, high-ranking members of the Citadel. You may have seen some of their faces before, sharing a platform with their leader and mentor, Gondulph Belhaine, promoting the ideals of that movement. Ideals that are, if you'll permit me to speak frankly, appeals to insularity, fear and suspicion. Gondulph Belhaine sought election as Minister of Magic in the name of those ideals. His underlying idea is that wizards and Muggles should not mix, that Muggles are a threat to wizards. Unsurprisingly, his manifesto found scant support. Having failed at the ballot box, it would seem that his party has resorted to violence. So remember, when you see the faces of the prisoners on the screen, among which are those who just last night attacked the Aurors sent to question them, remember that they purport to be politicians. And more than that, remember what values they represent.'

Why are they doing this? Can it really be to quieten the rumours? There had been whispers that the threat had been exaggerated, and even that the assassination attempt had been staged as a publicity stunt for the Auror Office to justify its status as first among equals within the Ministry. No matter what Hermione's opinion of Citadel was, the idea that the attack had been faked struck her as ludicrous. The attack on Kingsley had been real, of that she was sure. The only question was whether the conspiracy went all the way to the top. But what was the Ministry doing? Could it really be parading prisoners before the public just to counter a conspiracy theory?

Hermione watched as Luther Penhaligon raised his broad arm into the air and pointed his wand at the portal. The audience had gone silent.

'Now the show's really going to begin,' muttered Caius.

The portal shimmered again, and this time a grey light began to emanate from it. The portal grew gradually less opaque until a series of silhouettes could be made out. Finally, the figures came into view, dressed in the familiar uniform worn by the inmates of Azkaban, and framed by the black walls of a cell. Tobias Destrument was indeed among them. He looked paler than usual and had a rather haunted look, even though the Dementors had been kept under tighter rein since the Battle of Hogwarts. Hermione also recognised Xavier Belhaine. He looked unaffected, defiant even. The other prisoners were only vaguely familiar to her, from the pages of The Daily Prophet or possibly from Citadel's own publication, The Night Watch. As she scanned their faces, she noticed that Tobias Destrument's sister was not among them. How typical that she would escape. Now Myra Tremayne began to read out their names, her voice heavy with pathos.

'Xavier Belhaine, Tobias Destrument, Antonin Martell, Stanislas Pizzuoli, Edmund Glimlatch, Eustace Toussaint.'

'The prisoners will be released on bail quite soon,' continued Penhaligon. 'But given the seriousness of the crime that has been committed, a crime committed quite openly by one of the members of their organisation, it was deemed appropriate that the world should see these men and what they've sunk to.'

'There will be no need to release them,' said a new voice. The audience looked around to see where it came from. The next moment a thin, slight man in his sixties with a shaven, slightly shrunken head and dressed in a dark green suit, appeared at the far end of the stage. Belhaine himself. He walked slowly across the stage towards the wizards gathered there, leaning on a cane as he went.

'The prisoners refuse bail,' said the man. 'They will remain where you have put them.'

'They admit their guilt, then, do they?' said Myra Tremayne.

'Certainly not,' said the man. 'They are innocent. They are political prisoners.'

The man turned suddenly on his heels to face the audience and smiled. 'What a fine turn-out,' he said in a dry, creaking voice. Then he turned again to the wizards on the stage. 'And such an esteemed podium party. I hope the Ministry doesn't mind this intrusion. But in situations like this, I believe that both sides of the story need to be heard.'

As he spoke, a pained expression darted across his face.

'I hardly think this is the time for attempts at justification,' said Penhaligon.

'Oh I don't expect to convince the likes of you, Undersecretary,' Belhaine replied. 'My friends are quite resigned to the fact that they won't be acquitted today, or any day soon. But eventually they will leave Azkaban, and I don't mean on bail. The Ostend six will be acquitted,' he continued, coughing slightly as he did. 'My reputation, and that of my political movement, will be restored.'

'Just out of curiosity,' said Harry, standing up and walking towards Belhaine, 'after all this isn't a trial, are you claiming that Silas Lashburn wasn't a member of your organisation?'

'Mr Potter,' said Belhaine, bowing to him with a wheeze, 'so nice to see you in particular. No, Silas Lashburn was and is a member of Citadel. You have his declaration of allegiance, I believe, and you didn't even forge it. But he acted alone. Or if he was acting under anyone's orders, those orders weren't mine or of anyone else in the political leadership of our party. After all, I have the most to lose out of this whole affair. My movement's reputation has been smeared, and my closest colleagues and family members are in Azkaban, now supposedly high-security prisoners. The Minister, on the other hand, has barely a scratch on him, and his beloved Auror Office has collected the plaudits for a successful mission against what is supposed to be the greatest threat to wizards since Voldemort himself! Judge for yourselves, ladies and gentlemen, who has the most to gain!'

Whispering broke out all around the audience. Undersecretary Penhaligon smiled stiffly at Belhaine.

'This will all be examined in full during the trial, Belhaine,' he replied, his voice sonorous and authoritative. 'There will be full disclosure of the Ministry's activities, and of yours. But I suggest that you take care of what you say here today. There may yet be more arrests.'

Belhaine smiled grimly.

'I look forward to that trial as much as you, Undersecretary,' he croaked. 'I only hope we see the day when it begins.'

'Your people will get a fair trial, as you well know,' replied Penhaligon.

'You misunderstand me,' replied Belhaine. 'What I mean is this: my information is that the Ministry won't last long enough to bring this matter to trial.'

The whispering rose to a louder level.

'Do you still intend to bring down the Ministry, Belhaine?'

The question came from Mortimer Knott, who was on his feet.

'Not I,' replied Belhaine. 'I'm sorry to have to break this to you, Mr Knott. Since you're the Head of Muggle Affairs I thought you might have known this yourself: the wolves are at the door, and they're not wielding wands. They will come with guns, helicopters and television cameras. We can go on fighting among ourselves, or we can join forces and face the threat that is nearly upon us.'

Heads began to turn in the row in front of Hermione and Argenta. Hermione caught a number of smirking looks directed at her. Her only response was to look away, focusing her gaze on the podium.

'If you have specific information that is backed up with hard evidence,' said Myra Tremayne, 'then the Ministry will look into it.'

Belhaine smiled weakly.

'Ah, if only I had such evidence, Undersecretary,' he said. A rumble of noise rippled around the crowd, and a voice from the row in front of Hermione was heard to say what a surprise.

Another voice laughed softly in front of them, then added in a voice that was intentionally loud enough to hear:

'Perhaps Hermione Granger can file another report.'

'As far as I can see,' Myra Tremayne replied, 'you came here mainly to repeat your old political slogans. I rather wonder why you bothered. The slogans never won you many supporters in the past, and they're hardly likely to now.'

Belhaine grinned bleakly at Myra Tremayne through thin, dry lips.

'If that is the case, Undersecretary, then I have nothing left to do but place myself at the Ministry's pleasure.'

For a moment Myra Tremayne looked at Belhaine with her eyes wide open. Then her eyes narrowed again.

'If you'll oblige us with a confession,' she replied in a low, slightly uncertain voice, 'then we can arrange something for you.'

'It's not a question of confession,' Belhaine replied. 'My conscience is clear. Look at it if you like as a sentimental request from an elderly man. An old man who would like to be reunited with his son and grandson. Even if that means going to prison. Will you oblige me?'

'Only if you confess your involvement,' replied Myra Tremayne quickly, apparently losing patience. 'Prison A1 is not a hotel.'

'Very well,' said Belhaine, his face expressionless. 'If you refuse to send me down, I will do it myself.'

In an instant his wand was in his hand and an incantation on his lips. Aurors began to rush the stage, but they recoiled instinctively as a Dementor was suddenly conjured between Belhaine and the podium party, a baleful air descending in an instant throughout the audience. The Dementor leaned towards Belhaine, its tattered cloak seeming to wrap itself around the man's arm.

'I leave for Azkaban!' Belhaine shouted, his face white and a grimace on his lips. 'And I will stay there until the innocent are cleared!' The next instant a thick dark cloud swirled around Belhaine and the Dementor, the old man almost enveloped by the creature's embrace.

As soon as they were gone, the customary feeling of dread the Dementor had brought with it faded away. But the palpable air of shock remained.

'Look up there!' someone shouted from the audience. Everyone looked around and up at the portal still hanging high above them. The image reformed itself: there were now seven figures on the screen. Belhaine had indeed joined his comrades. Luther Penhaligon strode back across the stage, raised his wand and extinguished the image. The portal immediately went black.

'I believe this press conference has come to an end,' he said, in a quieter voice.

Hermione was one of the first out of the Aula. She paused in the corridor, waiting for Argenta and Caius to catch her up. Witches and wizards began to stream past her, and she could swear she received a few dirty looks from some of those that passed by. But before Argenta and Caius appeared, Hermione found herself face to face with Rathbone and Weaver again. They placed themselves between her and the passing crowd, forcing her back against the corridor wall.

'So the wolves are at the door, are they?' said Elias Rathbone, grinning sarcastically.

'So Belhaine claims,' Hermione replied coolly.

'I thought that was what you claimed was going to happen,' added Weaver. 'The witchfinders are on their way to bring down the walls, or something like that, wasn't it?'

'I don't have to justify myself to you,' Hermione replied. 'I received an explicit warning that something was being prepared. I simply brought it to the attention of the Ministry.'

'And do you still stick by it after all this time?' Rathbone remarked.

'Even if it hasn't happened yet, who's to say it won't?' said Hermione.

'If you hadn't noticed,' said Weaver, 'we're in the middle of a real crisis here. There's a real threat against the Ministry, and it comes from wizards, not from Muggles.'

Suddenly Caius barged in front of the wizards.

'What's your problem, boys?' he said, advancing towards them.

'The problem's people like you,' said Rathbone. 'You've been seen hanging around these Citadel people too.'

'I'm not a member of their organisation,' Caius retorted.

'Yeah, but you're the sort of person who says things like oh but they've got a point.'

'When have I ever said that?' Caius exclaimed. 'I don't agree with their politics at all.'

'Yeah come off it,' added Argenta, now at Hermione's side. 'It's one thing to say that there's a specific threat against us and another altogether to actually buy into Citadel's agenda.'

'Ah yes, another one of them,' said Weaver. 'I knew you'd be in on this witchfinder business. You'd be out of a job otherwise.'

'Speaking of jobs,' added Rathbone, pointing his thumb in Caius's general direction, his voice shot through with contempt, 'who ever gave this one a job in the Auror Office? Imagine that: a Slytherin Auror.'

'What is it to you?' Hermione exclaimed, the anger that had frozen her a few moments earlier suddenly heating up. 'You should concentrate on your job, whatever that might be, and let him do his. And by the way, I bet he's a much better Auror than you would ever be.'

Rathbone laughed and turned to his companion.

'What a pathetic little group,' he remarked.

'You're right,' replied Weaver. 'Still, the good news is that with these arrests the Ministry is starting to do something about the lunatic fringe.'

'That's true enough,' Rathbone replied, looking pointedly at Hermione and Argenta. 'But in my opinion they haven't gone far enough yet.'

'Say one more word and you'll regret it,' hissed Argenta, her wand suddenly pointing at Rathbone's chest.

'What do you think you're doing?' came another voice. Luther Penhaligon was standing in the doorway of the Aula. Harry was standing next to him.

'Is this the appropriate time for this sort of behaviour?' he boomed, glaring at both Argenta and Rathbone. 'Kindly lower your wand. We have a crisis on our hands.'

Argenta looked warily at the Undersecretary and lowered her wand. Then her gaze shifted to Harry. There was a hint of contempt in her look of incomprehension, which Harry obviously saw. He in turn looked at Hermione, who looked back at him, almost despairingly.

'Maybe you can talk some sense into her,' said Rathbone, addressing Harry. Harry examined Rathbone cooly, his mouth screwed up and pensive.

'Why do you say that?'

Rathbone smiled grimly.

'Had enough of her too, have you?'

'I don't think it's any of your business.'

His gaze flashed back to her for an instant. She thought she understood his expression.

Now Ron emerged from the Aula, staring at the curious standoff in the corridor.

'What's going on?' he said, his question half directed at Harry, half at Hermione.

'It's nothing,' said Harry, glancing again at Hermione before looking back at Ron. 'Everyone's a bit stressed out. It's normal in the circumstances.'