Minister Cornelius Oswald Fudge was having a bad day. Candidly, that statement did not really begin to do the day justice. The number of conflicting demands were unbelievable. He would have gladly scourgified every appointment from his calendar, but his hands were tied behind his back. He was being besieged on several different fronts all at once. Any one of the assaults had the potential to be career-ending; together, they held the undeniable promise of generating that result. He was beginning to feel like a cornered animal. Thus, he was contemplating whether it was time to jump ship, so to speak. After all, there was a small island nation with the penchant for serving fruity drinks topped with little umbrellas calling his name. He'd just have to arrange a portkey the ICW wouldn't be able to trace.
His mind was focusing on this course of action, much more than whatever Dolores was going on about, when his head of the DMLE entered his office for a scheduled meeting. She couldn't have been feeling very secure in what she had to report, because she had brought along her second in command as well as two other master aurors. It was good to know that even the vaunted Madam Bones wasn't above delegating delivering bad news to her subordinates in hopes of redirecting the blame - not that any more bad news could be stomached. But, the knowledge that the woman was human after all was nice. He really was going to procure that portkey, first chance he got. It was almost an afterthought that Fudge noted the presence of Director Croaker, who had not been expected.
"Well," Dolores demanded before the others had even begun to approach their seats. "Have you caught the criminal yet?"
Fudge was almost certain that Amelia was going to ignore the undersecretary when Rufus Scrimgeour spoke up, exuding an impressive air of inevitability. "Madam, we are fairly certain that a high-profile criminal shall be arrested before the day is out."
"That had better be the case," Dolores said, her voice too sweet for the words. "There's been another attack. Our citizens are being mutilated, and you are doing nothing to rectify the situation." She turned to Croaker, somehow still keeping her voice level. "Have you no idea how he is doing this?"
That damn robe made Croaker's response unemotional, but somehow the contempt still leaked through. "We have only the one theory, which you know full well, would imply that the marks were taken both knowingly and willingly."
"And you know full well, that is a lie." Dolores seethed. "You will find and implement a solution that does not sully the reputations of so many fine and upstanding citizens. Already, St. Mungo's has depleted her stock of skele-gro, and those afflicted have had their ability to produce children rendered null and void. This is a disaster of unmitigated proportions."
"We can do nothing more on that front," Director Croaker said. "It would go against the very law. Are we not forbidden from analyzing the dark mark for fear that the knowledge would corrupt us?"
"Do not hand the minister empty excuses." Dolores' voice rose in pitch. "Do your job and implement a solution."
"I cannot juggle when my hands are tied," Director Croaker answered.
"See here," Dolores started, but was overridden by Fudge.
"Enough Dolores." He said firmly, "This is getting us nowhere." He sighed before turning to Amelia, who, along with everyone else, was still standing. "Has anyone been able to contact Dumbledore? His expertise would be invaluable right now."
"He put in a brief appearance earlier and has since made himself scarce," Amelia said. "Not surprising since I have questions of my own to put to him."
"Have you put an end to this nonsense of a bounty?" Fudge pressed.
"It is both valid and legal." Amelia said. "Dumbledore will need to turn himself in to be questioned before the Wizengamot."
"How can such baseless accusations be used to harass our Chief Warlock?" Dolores demanded, though she didn't seem too terribly displeased.
"You and I have different definitions for the word 'baseless'," Amelia returned. "At the very least, I shall be charging the man with placing illegal blocks on an heir's magic."
"You shall do no such thing," Fudge said. "We cannot afford the scandal that would cause."
"That call is not yours to make." Amelia informed him.
"I am the Minister of Magic." Fudge gritted his teeth. "If it comes down to it, I can pardon the man. We need him right now; he'd be useless in Azkaban."
"You'd be opening yourself to the blood feud Lord Black would be sure to call if you do so," Amelia warned him. "That would mark you a willing accomplice to the crimes Dumbledore has committed against two prominent families."
"That criminal has no right to call a blood feud," Dolores insisted.
"Are you so disconnected from reality to have forgotten what being recognized as a lord signifies?" Croaker asked. "I suggest you think twice before slandering someone already greatly wronged by the Ministry."
"Everyone knows he is the one behind the attacks upon our preeminent citizens." Dolores sneered. "Even if he manages to clear himself of his previous crimes, these new ones will see him rightly back in Azkaban."
"Oh?" Amelia said "You have evidence that he is responsible? Would you care to share it with the rest of us?"
"Don't be daft," Dolores snapped. "You know as well as I do, that he is the culprit. I demand his arrest forthwith."
"I have my suspicions and assumptions," Amelia admitted. "However, those are not evidence. They are enough to bring him in for questioning, but not nearly enough for a warrant, let alone an arrest."
Dolores slammed her palm on the table in front of her as she found her feet. "Enough! You shall act upon the common sense gifted to you and arrest those you know committed crimes."
"Very well." Amelia grinned evilly as she motioned the two master aurors forward. "Just remember you asked for it." With swift motions, magic suppression cuffs were slapped on a surprised Fudge's wrists. "Cornelius Oswald Fudge you are under arrest for taking bribes and abuse of power."
"How dare you." Dolores was turning red. "Release him at once."
"Why?" Amelia asked. "Everyone knows that he's been taking bribes from Lucius Malfoy. I am acting upon my common sense and arresting someone whom I know has committed crimes."
"You have no proof," Dolores screeched. "Release him!"
"Hypocrisy, thy name is Dolores Umbridge," Scrimgeour commented.
Fudge sighed. "You've made your point, Madam Bones." He turned and held out his wrists towards one of the aurors. "You can uncuff me now."
"Oh, you really are under arrest," the auror stated calmly. "Come quietly."
"This is outrageous." Dolores snapped. "I'll have your jobs."
"Doubtful," Amelia said. "Unlike the Black situation, I have evidence against our esteemed minister. You see, Lucius has been using the Black slush fund for those bribes, and it has all been documented quite faithfully." She gave Dolores a piercing glare. "Do I need to tell you whom has it out for Malfoy? I hope not, because everybody just knows." With unnecessary flair, she added bindings to the shackles on the Minister's wrists.
Sometimes, despite what you want to do, your hands are tied behind your back.
Fudge was not having a good day.
Narcissa Malfoy née Black was having a bad day. Candidly, that statement did not really begin to do the day justice. If only she could let it all go, she might find some measure of solace. Her ordered world was breaking down before her very eyes. Worse yet, the blows kept coming, in this case literally, as her bruises attested. She had just come from delivering her husband to the hospital where she had found many of her allies doing the same for their own loved ones. It had been chaos, but the standing of her family had quickly seen Lucius into a private room and put on the top of the list of those to receive skele-gro once the new batches were finished brewing. When she had asked the staff what happened to their inventory of the potion, she had been informed that it had been shipped to Azkaban the night prior. There had been many prisoners in need of medical attention lest they succumb to their injuries.
She had then apparated to her favorite apothecary to buy out what was almost certain to be their meager stock of said potion only to find that she had been preceded by none other than Crouch himself. Without a doubt, the man had taken great pleasure in pouring his purchase down the drain in a fit of petty vengeance. To make matters worse, every other apothecary she had tried was similarly devoid of what she needed.
Thus, it fell to her to attend the meeting with the Malfoy account manager at Gringotts. Despite the urgency they had communicated, the goblin had been unavailable until this time, the absolute latest their contract allowed after a request for an audience was made. It was almost like he had been avoiding his superiors in a fit of rebellion. No matter, he could be replaced after he did the job that desperately needed doing.
"Rugsnatch." Narcissa greeted as she entered the office. "I have need of your services."
The goblin sat smugly behind his desk and offered a sneer in return; he was definitely going to be deprived of his position first chance she got. "How may Gringotts help you today?"
"I am sure you are aware Black has called due all of the loans I have authorized." Narcissa wasn't in the mood for niceties, so the goblin's normal Modis Operandum was working in her favor. "You need to pay those debts from the Malfoy accounts."
Without bothering to look at a ledger, Rugsnatch said. "There are not enough liquid assets to proceed with that course of action."
"Clearly assets need to be sold then," Narcissa said. "I know my husband has a predetermined schedule of sales to take place in a situation like this."
"That will take time." The goblin stated the obvious. "Need I remind you that you are not authorized to make such decisions of the Malfoy accounts?"
Narcissa pinched the bridge of her nose. "Lucius has been bedridden. These are his instructions. Draw up the paperwork and send a runner to get his signature; you'll find him at St. Mungo's."
"Very well." Rugsnatch grunted. "It shall be done. Do you have a preference for the order these debts are to be paid?"
"Do them all at once," Narcissa said. "If we dole out the funds incrementally, there will be those who take umbrage. This way, we will be able to truthfully tell our allies that a solution is in the works."
"This will eliminate a sizable portion of the Malfoy estate," Rugsnatch grumbled.
"We have no choice," Narcissa snapped. "Do as you are told."
"It shall be done," Rugsnatch said gruffly.
Not seeing any need for more words, the witch stalked from the office, her business done.
Sometimes, the only way out is to let it all go.
Narcissa was not having a good day.
Petunia Dursley née Evans was having a bad day. Candidly, that statement did not really begin to do the day justice. She swore it would cost her firstborn to get some normalcy back into her life. Truthfully, the last couple of days hadn't been the best. Vernon had been a simmering volcano of rage ever since the freak had done what he did to Marge. The unprovoked attack threatened to be the last straw as far as her husband was concerned. Never mind that the other freaks had come to put things right. He wasn't having the ungrateful brat back in the house. At least not for the rest of the summer, if ever.
It was good riddance to bad rubbish as far as Petunia was concerned. If not for the protections the old man had promised, they would have chucked the ungrateful brat out on his ear long ago. Unfortunately, this meant she was going to need to talk Vernon 'round come next summer. Thankfully, that left plenty of time for his anger to abate.
Speaking of the old freak, he had shown up on her doorstep earlier, demanding to speak with Harry. She had taken great pleasure in informing him that she had no idea where the little freak was nor did she care. They hadn't seen him since that awful night. The old freak had not been happy with her response and had disappeared with a crack of thunder, heedless of any watching neighbors. Petunia desperately hoped no one had been paying attention. With her luck, there was no way the rest of the summer would be freak free.
That's when the worst thing imaginable happened. As if the old freak hadn't been enough, this time around it was a tiny freak - a tiny freak backed by two more freaks in thick robes, in the middle of summer, no less.
"Mrs. Dursley," the tiny freak said. "I am Professor Flitwick. I'm sure your nephew has spoken of me."
"He's not here," Petunia snapped and made to slam the knob in his face.
The small man held up a hand, and the door stopped as if encased in cement. "Not the reaction I was hoping for. There may be some truth in Lord Black's letter. However, I am here concerning your own son. You see, we have been made aware that the detection of potential magic users is not one hundred percent accurate. Since your son is closely related to a known wizard, we are here to administer a simple test to ascertain his potential."
"My Diddykins is not a freak." Petunia barked. "Leave, you are not welcome here."
The two freaks in the back shared a look as the little freak refused to back down. "I'm afraid we must insist. It is a simple test and won't take much of your time."
"We'll gladly obliviate you after," one of the freaks in the back added.
"We've been handing them out like sweets all day," commented the other. "What's one more?"
"My Diddykins is not a freak," Petunia stubbornly repeated.
"Ma'am," said the first background freak. "We've been going house to house since noon looking for those who have been overlooked. Save us the hassle, and call your son so we can get this over with. The sooner you do, the sooner we are out of your hair."
Petunia glared at the robed figure for a second before deciding to expedite getting them off her lawn before any of the neighbors noticed. "Dudders," she called over her shoulder. "Come here; Mummy needs you."
"I'm watching the telly, Mum," replied a boy's voice.
"It'll have to wait," Petunia called. "Won't take but a minute."
"Coming," Dudders called. "Just a second, it's almost to the commercial."
Petunia took a few steps back. "Well, come in then. I don't want any of the neighbors seeing your freakish test."
The three came in before the micro freak pointed his freakish stick at the grandfather clock standing in the hallway. Petunia squeaked in alarm and anger when her property shrunk down to miniscule size.
"What is it, Mum?" Asked a too-large boy as he descended the stairs, noticing the visitors for the first time. "Oh."
"Dudley Dursley?" the smallest among them asked.
"Yes," said the boy in a small voice.
"Do not worry. We mean you no harm," the professor said. "We just need you to come here and tap this clock with this wand three times." So saying, he produced another freakish stick besides the one he had been holding.
Keeping an eye on the newcomers, Dudley gingerly took the horrible object from the small man before doing as instructed.
"Well imagine that," said background freak number two. "Another one."
Background freak number one nodded. "This one is going to have a rough time at Hogwarts if his mother is anything to go by."
Hogwarts, that damned asylum for freaks – they were taking her firstborn!
Petunia was not having a good day.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was having a bad day. Candidly, that statement did not really begin to do the day justice. In less time than it took to tell, a decade's worth of maneuverings had gone up in smoke. The course of events that he had so very carefully determined had apparently jumped the track in such a way that he did not have a ready contingency plan. With a single letter, so many things had gone wrong that he could almost believe some higher power had been displeased by him.
He knew that Sirius breaking out of prison had the potential to cause problems. Serious problems, if one were to ignore the pun. But ultimately, they should have been manageable. Especially since Remus would be the DADA professor this year. With some words of apology and some empty promises of aid, it should have been feasible to both retain Sirius' loyalty and keep him isolated as an escaped convict. Minimizing his access to Harry if not eliminating it altogether.
Alas, it would seem that loyalty had already been forfeit. The article in the Daily Prophet made it evident that Sirius now numbered him among his enemies. An unfortunate turn of events that could not be allowed to spread to the boy. Albus could not afford for that vessel to lose faith in him. Too much was at stake. The boy had a destiny he must fulfill at all costs. The road ahead had just become that much more difficult. Worse, in Britain, it was likely his control over the boy was at an end. The key words, of course, being in Britain. He could still be molded properly if taken abroad. Something Albus would have to do before any paperwork denying him guardianship was filed. Thus, he had rushed to his office to secure some needed items before apparating directly to the boy's summer cage.
There he found the boy had picked the absolute worse time to run away. The horse of a woman had taken great pleasure in telling him that. With time being as short as it was, now was not the time for the boy to become selfish. Albus needed to get him outside the sphere of influence that was the Ministry of Magic and he needed to do it before it would be considered kidnapping. As long as he held the boy's guardianship, no matter how loosely, he could justify moving him somewhere safe to be looked over by trusted allies. Harry may balk at being forced to learn French or Spanish, but children had a knack for adapting.
Luckily, the woman had let slip that there had been a case of accidental magic that had required the obliviators. It hadn't taken him very long to rush into the ministry and retrieve the file on the incident. A file that should have contained the current location of the Boy-Who-Lived. The boy was one pawn that Albus could not afford to lose. Everything he had worked for could be undone if that happened. Albus would not allow that. Once the boy and his trust were secured, new plans could be made.
He had been preparing an international portkey that was quite illegal when Tom, the bartender, had informed him the information the ministry had was out of date and the boy had checked out of the room he had been letting. Leaving Albus with no ready leads to where the boy might be at that very moment; and Albus could feel the minutes ticking by. Each one marked the possibility that the boy might become a little less ignorant. Each one came with the inedibility that legal guardianship would be stripped from Albus. Each one was a nail in the coffin of the Wizarding World as they knew it.
On a whim, he apparated to the Ministry of Records. Impatiently, he opened the folder he had requested, the last link of his legal guardianship. Inside, there was naught but ash. For the first time in a very long time, Albus Dumbledore was at a loss for what to do next. His last contingency had gone up in smoke.
Albus was not having a good day.
Geraldine Anne Glenfield née Folkland was having a bad day. Candidly, that statement did not really begin to do the day justice. Circumstance had reached out and snatched a proverbial pound of flesh. For the second time that week, her husband had been hospitalized. Something they could ill afford. Especially since financial ruin was hanging over their heads. At first, they had thought the Malfoys had reneged on their promises; something they could have fought to some degree. Being targets of the new Lord Black was, however, the reality of the situation and infinitely worse. They were guilty of trying to take advantage of a stagnate family and the good lord had demanded that pound of flesh.
It was therefore an uplifting surprise when the goblins had sent a letter stating that the loan might be open to being reworked. It would seem that the pictures of their eldest daughter sent with their request for leniency had done their job. The promise of relief was on the horizon. Unfortunately, the window of opportunity was very narrow. The goblins had demanded a meeting within the hour, forcing Geraldine to rush to St. Mungos to draft a letter of enforcement for her husband to sign; holding the quill in his mouth. Both his arms were boneless and useless, but magic would still recognize the intent, if not the signature.
Geraldine did feel slightly guilty, sacrificing Gloria in such a manner, but there was little choice. There were other children to support, besides at twenty, Gloria was still single. Granted she would not be the man's wife, but Geraldine remembered seeing Black, Potter and their friends in the pub on a few occasions. There was no small amount of envy in her own heart when she considered that her daughter was destined to become that man's toy. He hadn't been hard on the eyes, and even after his stay in Azkaban, he should retain that quality. He was also a lord… a very rich lord who would take good care of his playthings. In truth, Geraldine was probably about to deliver Gloria into a life of comfort.
After arriving at the bank with minutes to spare, one of the beasts led her to an office where a single unimportant member of their race sat behind a large desk.
"Get in here." It barked upon seeing her. "You are wasting time."
Biting back a retort, Geraldine closed the door behind herself and swiftly found the seat in front of the desk. "Lord Black is willing to rework our loan?" She tried to make it a statement, but it came out as a timid question.
"He is." The goblin said.
Geraldine closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "When will Gloria need to be here?"
The goblin grunted and looked at the paperwork on its desk. "You're in luck. Lord Black is not requiring you to surrender your daughter."
Geraldine sucked in her breath. Did the lord prefer older women? "What are his terms?"
"This is a one-time offer. Your account will be brought current and the applied penalties forgiven. Additionally, fifty percent of the accrued interest shall be nullified. In return, a contract, enforced by Black family magic as well as your own, shall be established. I assume you have a letter enabling you to make family commitments as we have been informed your husband has been hospitalize."
Geraldine held up a folded piece of paper and nodded.
"Very well," the goblin snarled as he slid a piece of parchment towards her.
With shaking hands, she picked it up, unsure of what was to come. She was pleasantly surprised at the simplicity of the demands the contract made of her family. Never to work against the interests of either the Black family or the Potters, that was to be expected. There was a list of people that they would be bound to assist in opposing if called to do so and whom they could give neither aid nor comfort under any circumstance. Some of those names were worrisome. Albus Dumbledore being the most notable. Fudge and Crouch were not lightweights either, nor were several other prominent members of the Wizengamot. Then it looked like Lord Black started to show signs of his overexposure to dementors. Minister Fred Rogers? Britney Spears? Tom Marvolo Riddle? Leonardo DiCaprio? Jennifer Love Hewitt? Santa Claus? The easter bunny?! The man must really have it in for rabbits if he had a grudge against the easter bunny.
"Who are these people?" Geraldine demanded. "I don't recognize half of them."
The goblin looked at her and sneered. "My next appointment is in two minutes. You have that much time to decide and sign. Do you wish to go over every name you don't recognize?"
"No." Geraldine took a blood quill off the desk and placed it on the letter her husband had signed. Both began to glow softly. "I'm just surprised he's letting us off so lightly."
"It is in the lord's best interest to cultivate obligation. Especially since he will more than likely take a loss otherwise due to the inability of his debtors to pay in full."
"So, no auteurism in sight." Geraldine sighed. "He is very much a Black after all. "Would including Gloria entitle us to a reduction in the principle?"
"Do you not like your daughter?" the goblin blinked in surprise. "Or are you just trying to make her Lord Black's personal property."
"I am." Geraldine said picking up the quill. "I think he'd give her a good life while putting life in her. I remember the stories my younger sister told of her time at Hogwarts with him and his friends. A mother has to look out for her daughters after all."
"No."
"She looks really good in a pink teddy. Takes after me, don't you know."
"No."
"There are things that I've taught her that I'm positive Lord Black couldn't help but approve of."
"No."
"I'm sure after ten years in Azkaban, she could make him extremely happy."
"I am not authorized to accept your offer."
"No reduction in the principle then?"
"You have thirty seconds."
"All right. All right." Geraldine signed the contract, wincing as her name appeared on the back of her hand as the Blood Quill made its magic known.
She could almost hear the gasp from her husband as a pound of his body was taken as collateral.
Geraldine was not having a good day. But at least there had been a little reprieve.