Three Times Six, Chapter Eight
by: myr_halcyon
Summary: And next in line, a tussle at the Ministry's new Headquarters on the Hogwarts grounds.
I dislike Percival, and enjoy adverbs. Thank you.
=====
Percy Weasley sat in his office. Paperwork flooded his inbox - the Ministry had been especially busy over the past few days, solidifying international relations, what with the Turks and the Dark Lord scare. Percy sighed. When would the magical world realize that You-Know-Who was effectively dead in a cave in Romania with a clan of vampire outcasts who were probably having the feast of their lives...
He picked up a brief letter from the head of the Chinese Department of International Relations. Such letters had been forwarded to him as of late, as the higher-ups were busy covering up the Daily Prophet article that had leaked the rumours to the public. Percy sighed, looking over the broken English. The poor woman had obviously mispronounced the translation spell, a simple spell all officials were required to know. Such inadequacy...
Ministre,
We scared very long much in here. What rumors we hear? What we do? The Muggles not anything suspect, but wizarding people becoming suspicious like egg. Back indeed is He-of-the-Pronoun? Should we scared be?
In hurry, Department International Relations, China
Percy whipped out a small slip of parchment and carefully but impatiently wrote the same note he'd written twelve times that morning.
Department of International Relations,
In our position here in the heart of the perceived "problem," the Ministry of Magic of Great Britain sees no reason for alarm. You-Know-Who has been effectively vanquished to the point where he no longer presents any danger to the wizarding community. His precise whereabouts are strictly confidential to prevent further danger to the less prudent of our number, but rest assured that you have nothing to worry about.
The new Minister of Magic of Great Britain, Mr. Albus Dumbledore, wishes to inform our brothers in magic that all will be settled posthaste and you may all go about your merry lives.
Sincerely, Percival Weasley Department of International Relations Ministry of Magic London, England
Percy dropped his quill neatly back into the inkwell and blew on the wet ink. He was drumming his fingers on his desk, waiting for the ink to dry, when a mountain of black and brown burst through his door.
"Whaddeyeh think yer DOIN', Weasley?" it bellowed.
"Oh, hello there, Rubeus," said Percy, distractedly. "If you don't mind, I've got a pile of letters to answer, Ministers to console, the usual, you know. Now if you'd just...?" He nodded his head toward the door.
Hagrid was not so easily dismissed. He slammed his hands down on either side of the letter Percy had written, nearly cracking the desk. "Weasley, if Minister Dumbledore's told yeh once, he's told yeh a thousan' times. Yer not ter be sendin' plat-er-tudes out in his name! Yeh can do what yeh bloody well please with yer own name, but don' be a-sullyin' his name with yer pack o' lies!"
Percy calmly picked up the glass of water from his desk and took a sip from the scant contents that hadn't managed to spill all over the floor. "Rubeus, I don't blame you in the slightest for your lack of knowledge on the subject. I assure you, You-Know-Who is safely tucked away where he won't bother anyone anymore. Just because Minister Dumbledore doesn't wish to acknowledge the fact doesn't mean it isn't true." He set his glass down and smiled smugly at Hagrid, motioning for the large man to vacate his office.
Hagrid stared, dumbfounded, into Percy's unwavering gaze. "Yeh really believe that, don' yeh," he said quietly. "I can't believe yeh...yer own brothers and sister dead 'cause of that monster, and yer willin' ter just let 'im go..." He stood up slowly and took a step back from the desk, running a hand wildly through his hair. "Don' yeh feel even the leas' bit o'...o' need fer revenge?"
"No, Rubeus, I don't," said Percy, raising an eyebrow. "Revenge will get me nowhere, while keeping everyone calm and letting the Ministry do its job will help everyone get along. It is indeed unfortunate that so many young people had to lose their lives in that horrid accident, but accidents do happen, and we all need to learn to get on with our lives."
"Git on with...ACCIDENT? If that were an accident, I'm a bloody niffler! It was them Death Eaters...an' You-Know-Who...he killed yer brothers! He killed poor Ginny!" Hagrid flung his arms wide, narrowly missing a ficus sitting on Percy's filing cabinet. "They're yer blood, Weasley!"
Percy sighed, shifting his attention to the nearly dry letter on his desk. "They were indeed my blood, Rubeus," he said firmly. "And I miss them deeply. However, there are things to be done, and the living need to be comforted and told what to do more than the dead need to be dwelt on."
Hagrid's jaw dropped. "But...I can't believe yeh, Weasley. I can't believe that yeh believe the lies the blasted Wizard Relations people are makin' up...and yer jus' sittin' there like it's bloody Midsummer's day or summat. What's wrong with yeh?"
"Absolutely nothing," said Percy evenly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." He blew on the ink a final time and lightly brushed his finger over the text, resolved to pay no more heed to the half-giant in front of him.
Hagrid stood, shaking silently, in front of Percy's desk for several long minutes, watching Percy fold up and bind the letter to the leg of a bored-looking Ministry screech owl with mind-wrenching precision. Percy neatly addressed the parchment, "From Mister Percival Weasley To The Department Of International Relations Of China" and picked up a paper from the top of his inbox as the owl flapped out of the window.
Percy's office changed, in the time it takes for a snake to wink an eye, from a tidy and orderly work of perfection to a pile of rubble that Dudley Dursley would have admired. "What the hell was that?" cried Percy, flailing his arms from his new position underneath the drapery.
***
Dumbledore was making his way back to his office from the Great Hall when he felt the vibrations of a second Dark explosion rock the castle. He paused in the teachers' hallway and closed his eyes. Death, he could feel. Everyone in the outer buildings. Gone.
He sighed. He knew he shouldn't have moved the Ministry to the outlying grounds, but they'd been ignoring him anyway and he'd just needed to express the mutual dislike physically. He just hadn't thought that Voldemort would have found them so quickly like that. Hadn't thought that Voldemort would have been prepared to attack so quickly. He'd be to the castle by nightfall.
So this was the beginning of the end, it was, he thought. He raised his eyes past the ceilings and wished the souls of the Ministry workers repose, forgiving them for all their past scuffles. Bringing his eyes back to earth, he turned back towards his office, where Harry was waiting to finalize the battle plan and muster what army they could. As Dumbledore went over the latest intelligence in his head, he began to mindlessly hum a requiem and move his hands almost imperceptibly like the ghostly conductor of a one-violin orchestra.
"Mommy, what's that crazy old man doing?" Dumbledore heard the whispered question of a small child as he passed through the Entrance Hall and half opened an eye to look at the source of the voice. Many families had begun to gather at Hogwarts in preparation for the final battle, and this mother and daughter were two of the newest arrivals. The mother was obviously trying to shush her daughter and explain that the crazy old man was one of the most powerful and knowledgeable wizards around and should be treated with respect.
Dumbledore smiled a half smile and continued on with his plans and his requiem, ignoring a minor scuffle until he felt a tug on his robes. He opened his eyes completely to find himself staring into the huge brown ones of the little girl. "Excuse me, sir," she said, giving an awkward curtsy, "but what're you doing?"
Dumbledore smiled, the first honest smile he'd had all day. He knelt down so his once-again-twinkling eyes were even with hers. "What's your name, dear?" he asked.
"Meghan Gnossi, sir," she said, biting her lip.
"Well, Miss Gnossi," he said, "what do you think I'm doing?"
Megan thought for a minute. "Being weird?"
Dumbledore smiled. "No."
"Wandless magic? Because it's not working too well," she said. "...sir," she added, awkwardly remembering her manners.
Dumbledore shook his head, ruffling her hair as he stood up. "No, my dear, it's working wonderfully," he said, stretching out his fingers again. "You see, Miss Gnossi, I'm writing a symphony."
=====
A/N: Thank you to the Harry Potter Lexicon for information on Dumbledore's musical inclinations. And 10 points to the house of anyone who can guess the name of Percy's office plant. A longer author's note awaits you in the reviews.
And to my beautiful reviewers whom I love so very much:
Mia: You're the reason I didn't update quickly (everyone note this: never tell an author you can wait a while for an update), but pay it no mind. Glad you like!
Agi: Whee...I updated. I was going to turn this into a Scar Challenge submission, but I like Dumbledore's ending here better.
Katergator: ...You don't get a "ding".
Elizabeth Wright: There, I updated. Haven't seen Rosemary's Baby, I'll have to look it up sometime. Don't worry, Dumbledore's going to turn out more like Dr. Theimer than Gandalf.
myimmortal: No, actually I've been reading Lord of the Rings lately, though I do enjoy the movies as well. The first two chapters are further in time than the rest of this story; this started out as a one-shot fic and morphed into the monster it is now. You were supposed to be confused about Dumbledore; that's how I designed the chapter. In fact, most of this story is about being confused. It's sort of higher level, "I'm going to make you think on your own" type writing. I haven't had much time for fanfic, but I'll check out sixteen candles when I get the chance.
Becki: Sorry I didn't update quite ASAP, but...well, I want to try to do things right. And like my bio says, my muse is fickle.
Thank you one and everyone! -MH
Summary: And next in line, a tussle at the Ministry's new Headquarters on the Hogwarts grounds.
I dislike Percival, and enjoy adverbs. Thank you.
=====
Percy Weasley sat in his office. Paperwork flooded his inbox - the Ministry had been especially busy over the past few days, solidifying international relations, what with the Turks and the Dark Lord scare. Percy sighed. When would the magical world realize that You-Know-Who was effectively dead in a cave in Romania with a clan of vampire outcasts who were probably having the feast of their lives...
He picked up a brief letter from the head of the Chinese Department of International Relations. Such letters had been forwarded to him as of late, as the higher-ups were busy covering up the Daily Prophet article that had leaked the rumours to the public. Percy sighed, looking over the broken English. The poor woman had obviously mispronounced the translation spell, a simple spell all officials were required to know. Such inadequacy...
Ministre,
We scared very long much in here. What rumors we hear? What we do? The Muggles not anything suspect, but wizarding people becoming suspicious like egg. Back indeed is He-of-the-Pronoun? Should we scared be?
In hurry, Department International Relations, China
Percy whipped out a small slip of parchment and carefully but impatiently wrote the same note he'd written twelve times that morning.
Department of International Relations,
In our position here in the heart of the perceived "problem," the Ministry of Magic of Great Britain sees no reason for alarm. You-Know-Who has been effectively vanquished to the point where he no longer presents any danger to the wizarding community. His precise whereabouts are strictly confidential to prevent further danger to the less prudent of our number, but rest assured that you have nothing to worry about.
The new Minister of Magic of Great Britain, Mr. Albus Dumbledore, wishes to inform our brothers in magic that all will be settled posthaste and you may all go about your merry lives.
Sincerely, Percival Weasley Department of International Relations Ministry of Magic London, England
Percy dropped his quill neatly back into the inkwell and blew on the wet ink. He was drumming his fingers on his desk, waiting for the ink to dry, when a mountain of black and brown burst through his door.
"Whaddeyeh think yer DOIN', Weasley?" it bellowed.
"Oh, hello there, Rubeus," said Percy, distractedly. "If you don't mind, I've got a pile of letters to answer, Ministers to console, the usual, you know. Now if you'd just...?" He nodded his head toward the door.
Hagrid was not so easily dismissed. He slammed his hands down on either side of the letter Percy had written, nearly cracking the desk. "Weasley, if Minister Dumbledore's told yeh once, he's told yeh a thousan' times. Yer not ter be sendin' plat-er-tudes out in his name! Yeh can do what yeh bloody well please with yer own name, but don' be a-sullyin' his name with yer pack o' lies!"
Percy calmly picked up the glass of water from his desk and took a sip from the scant contents that hadn't managed to spill all over the floor. "Rubeus, I don't blame you in the slightest for your lack of knowledge on the subject. I assure you, You-Know-Who is safely tucked away where he won't bother anyone anymore. Just because Minister Dumbledore doesn't wish to acknowledge the fact doesn't mean it isn't true." He set his glass down and smiled smugly at Hagrid, motioning for the large man to vacate his office.
Hagrid stared, dumbfounded, into Percy's unwavering gaze. "Yeh really believe that, don' yeh," he said quietly. "I can't believe yeh...yer own brothers and sister dead 'cause of that monster, and yer willin' ter just let 'im go..." He stood up slowly and took a step back from the desk, running a hand wildly through his hair. "Don' yeh feel even the leas' bit o'...o' need fer revenge?"
"No, Rubeus, I don't," said Percy, raising an eyebrow. "Revenge will get me nowhere, while keeping everyone calm and letting the Ministry do its job will help everyone get along. It is indeed unfortunate that so many young people had to lose their lives in that horrid accident, but accidents do happen, and we all need to learn to get on with our lives."
"Git on with...ACCIDENT? If that were an accident, I'm a bloody niffler! It was them Death Eaters...an' You-Know-Who...he killed yer brothers! He killed poor Ginny!" Hagrid flung his arms wide, narrowly missing a ficus sitting on Percy's filing cabinet. "They're yer blood, Weasley!"
Percy sighed, shifting his attention to the nearly dry letter on his desk. "They were indeed my blood, Rubeus," he said firmly. "And I miss them deeply. However, there are things to be done, and the living need to be comforted and told what to do more than the dead need to be dwelt on."
Hagrid's jaw dropped. "But...I can't believe yeh, Weasley. I can't believe that yeh believe the lies the blasted Wizard Relations people are makin' up...and yer jus' sittin' there like it's bloody Midsummer's day or summat. What's wrong with yeh?"
"Absolutely nothing," said Percy evenly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." He blew on the ink a final time and lightly brushed his finger over the text, resolved to pay no more heed to the half-giant in front of him.
Hagrid stood, shaking silently, in front of Percy's desk for several long minutes, watching Percy fold up and bind the letter to the leg of a bored-looking Ministry screech owl with mind-wrenching precision. Percy neatly addressed the parchment, "From Mister Percival Weasley To The Department Of International Relations Of China" and picked up a paper from the top of his inbox as the owl flapped out of the window.
Percy's office changed, in the time it takes for a snake to wink an eye, from a tidy and orderly work of perfection to a pile of rubble that Dudley Dursley would have admired. "What the hell was that?" cried Percy, flailing his arms from his new position underneath the drapery.
***
Dumbledore was making his way back to his office from the Great Hall when he felt the vibrations of a second Dark explosion rock the castle. He paused in the teachers' hallway and closed his eyes. Death, he could feel. Everyone in the outer buildings. Gone.
He sighed. He knew he shouldn't have moved the Ministry to the outlying grounds, but they'd been ignoring him anyway and he'd just needed to express the mutual dislike physically. He just hadn't thought that Voldemort would have found them so quickly like that. Hadn't thought that Voldemort would have been prepared to attack so quickly. He'd be to the castle by nightfall.
So this was the beginning of the end, it was, he thought. He raised his eyes past the ceilings and wished the souls of the Ministry workers repose, forgiving them for all their past scuffles. Bringing his eyes back to earth, he turned back towards his office, where Harry was waiting to finalize the battle plan and muster what army they could. As Dumbledore went over the latest intelligence in his head, he began to mindlessly hum a requiem and move his hands almost imperceptibly like the ghostly conductor of a one-violin orchestra.
"Mommy, what's that crazy old man doing?" Dumbledore heard the whispered question of a small child as he passed through the Entrance Hall and half opened an eye to look at the source of the voice. Many families had begun to gather at Hogwarts in preparation for the final battle, and this mother and daughter were two of the newest arrivals. The mother was obviously trying to shush her daughter and explain that the crazy old man was one of the most powerful and knowledgeable wizards around and should be treated with respect.
Dumbledore smiled a half smile and continued on with his plans and his requiem, ignoring a minor scuffle until he felt a tug on his robes. He opened his eyes completely to find himself staring into the huge brown ones of the little girl. "Excuse me, sir," she said, giving an awkward curtsy, "but what're you doing?"
Dumbledore smiled, the first honest smile he'd had all day. He knelt down so his once-again-twinkling eyes were even with hers. "What's your name, dear?" he asked.
"Meghan Gnossi, sir," she said, biting her lip.
"Well, Miss Gnossi," he said, "what do you think I'm doing?"
Megan thought for a minute. "Being weird?"
Dumbledore smiled. "No."
"Wandless magic? Because it's not working too well," she said. "...sir," she added, awkwardly remembering her manners.
Dumbledore shook his head, ruffling her hair as he stood up. "No, my dear, it's working wonderfully," he said, stretching out his fingers again. "You see, Miss Gnossi, I'm writing a symphony."
=====
A/N: Thank you to the Harry Potter Lexicon for information on Dumbledore's musical inclinations. And 10 points to the house of anyone who can guess the name of Percy's office plant. A longer author's note awaits you in the reviews.
And to my beautiful reviewers whom I love so very much:
Mia: You're the reason I didn't update quickly (everyone note this: never tell an author you can wait a while for an update), but pay it no mind. Glad you like!
Agi: Whee...I updated. I was going to turn this into a Scar Challenge submission, but I like Dumbledore's ending here better.
Katergator: ...You don't get a "ding".
Elizabeth Wright: There, I updated. Haven't seen Rosemary's Baby, I'll have to look it up sometime. Don't worry, Dumbledore's going to turn out more like Dr. Theimer than Gandalf.
myimmortal: No, actually I've been reading Lord of the Rings lately, though I do enjoy the movies as well. The first two chapters are further in time than the rest of this story; this started out as a one-shot fic and morphed into the monster it is now. You were supposed to be confused about Dumbledore; that's how I designed the chapter. In fact, most of this story is about being confused. It's sort of higher level, "I'm going to make you think on your own" type writing. I haven't had much time for fanfic, but I'll check out sixteen candles when I get the chance.
Becki: Sorry I didn't update quite ASAP, but...well, I want to try to do things right. And like my bio says, my muse is fickle.
Thank you one and everyone! -MH