Harry Potter and the Slow Bloom
Chapter 11: Umbra
Standard disclaimer applies. I'm getting really bored with saying this so if you must read it, crack the following substitution cypher: H cn mns nvm Gzqqx Onssdq. Apologies for the lack of updates but see my other scribbles for explanation. Also, exams are upon me.
There was a moment where space itself seemed to twist and wrap itself around him. His feet left the ground for an instant and then he landed in a familiar antechamber, Fawkes's own brand of magic flaring harmlessly around him. This place was known to only twelve other witches and wizards in the world and was utterly deserted. He felt safe, but he knew he had to move fast.
The room was the size of a small hall, sparely lit and without decorations save a dusty old chandelier suspended by a rusty chain from the ceiling. Dark wooden panelling patina'd with age abounded throughout and there was a panelled set of double doors at the other end. Curiously there didn't seem to be any other way in or out. A herringbone pattern of wooden boards was laid out upon the floor, filthy and gritty, the air was bone dry and smelled of dust, and it would have been obvious to even the most casual observer that this was a place not frequently used.
Dumbledore turned look up at the chandelier where Fawkes had perched himself. There was a flurry of wings from above and the bird alighted on his shoulder. His wand in his hand, he approached right side of the double doors. Just before he reached them, however, he carefully removed a small package around the size of box of tissues from his robes and set it to one side. He turned back to the doors.
There was a small wooden box there, unadorned. Where a keyhole might have been, there was only a small circular aperture the size of a knut. Into this he inserted his wand and then spoke clearly:
"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore".
The box began to glow a deep orange, illuminating the tired wood around it. He stepped back, leaving his wand and reached for an ornate golden door handle that had suddenly appeared in the woodwork. He then fished a strange key from somewhere deep within the recesses of his robe.
Of blued silver and highly polished, it caught the meagre light from the chandelier and amplified it tenfold. It had many tines all over the shaft, some of which stuck out at impossible angles. There was hint of other tines there that seemed not quite visible to ordinary light. Some of them branched into two and then came back on themselves and others protruded from nowhere.
He inserted it into the striking-plate below the handle, the surface glowing blue as the key slid into the seemingly solid metal with no resistance at all. A twist filled the room with white light, and when it receded the room had changed almost beyond recognition. Brilliant mahogany tones covered the walls as the patina vanished. The carved wood was now throwing off a deep lustre, lit from above by the newly resplendent and blazing crystal chandelier, and the herringbone floor glowed. He retrieved his wand and, tapping it to the striking-plate, pulled on the door handle. There was a torrent of clicks from the doors as some fiendishly complicated lock released and they swung open, revealing a large chamber panelled in a lighter wood.
Thirteen chairs were arranged around a circular table inlaid with threads of wood of all colours and directly over the centre of it hung another, larger chandelier. The atmosphere was light and open, as if an army of cleaners had just been through. Sunshine poured into the hall from ornate windows high above. Doubtless the miraculous transformation on the other side of the door had been repeated in here as well. Dumbledore walked to the table, ignoring Fawkes who was swooping around the room and sat in one of the chairs. His air brisk and businesslike, he placed the package on the table and unwrapped it.
It was a stone bowl, a miniature Penseive. Removing the wooden cover he placed in at the centre of the table where the inlaid paths of wood met. He tapped one of them, saying, "Nuntiam mitto" as he did so. The inlaying on the table glowed for a moment, highlighting eleven paths each leading to a spot on the table directly in front of a chair.
He sat back and summoned Fawkes to him. As the warm weight of the bird alighted on his shoulder, he gave a small sigh of relief. The High Council had been summoned. Everything was in place. All he had to do was wait.
They arrived in short order, each placing their wand in the verifier and taking a seat at the table. From all over the globe they came, from every continent and way of life. A wizened old tribal elder sat next to a woman who looked as if she had stepped out of a muggle business fashion catalogue. Two suited men took their places with ease. From their demeanour and to a lesser extent the cut of their suits, it was obvious to all that they were used to seats of power. An eastern woman in a white kimono followed a man in dungarees and a bush hat through the door. The last arrivals were a girl in a colourful pashmina, a powerful man wearing a Stetson and three others in traditional wizarding robes. Each sat at a random place at the table with a minimum of fuss and waited for each of their compatriots to settle. Dumbledore stood and cleared his throat.
"I hereby declare the High Council of the Wizengamot to be in session. Let us all be of one mind."
"Of one mind," the Council echoed.
The ritual over and with a sense of accelerating time encroaching upon him, Dumbledore came swiftly to the point. His eyes resting firmly on each member in turn, he addressed them. "I have gathered you here so that you may hear the full details of the disturbing events that have occurred inside the British Ministry. You are all aware of the return of Lord Voldemort…" at this, the Council nodded as one"… and the circumstances of his attack on the Hall of Prophecy within last summer."
"In the wake of certain events pertaining to the engagement fought there, a number of disturbing issues have arisen to which we shall eventually require a solution. However, we have scant time in which to act. We have been deceived and betrayed. The Ministry has remained infiltrated by Voldemort's followers and continues so to this day. The Penseive in the centre contains all the information relating to the events of the last few weeks. Please examine it closely."
The next hour slid by in a barrage of questions, a group tour of the thoughts in the penseive (which contained Ron's memories of the Ministry foray the previous summer plus the rest of his flashbacks) and much argument. The light had all but faded from the room by the time that twelve weary witches and wizards had come to their conclusions.
"There can be no doubt that Minister Fudge is implicated, Chief Warlock. He must be removed from his post, detained and questioned." Thus spoke one of the men in business suits, and there was a slight twang to his voice. There was a general nod from the assembled heads. One decision.
"The death of Broderick Bode was probably brought about by the Sleeper. There can be little doubt that one exists, yet we only have the Weasley boy's testimony…" This from the woman in the suit.
"Would you risk inaction, after all we have seen?" the kimono'd lady countered. "Even if he has made a mistake, such allegations are not lightly made. He must be captured."
"And this…shadow group? What are we to make of them?"
At this point Dumbledore spoke up. "High Counsellor , the Death Chamber is, unfortunately, aptly named. It contains what we see as Death in its purest form, but as to the use to which it was put… Cornelius Fudge will have to explain himself."
"What of his predecessor?"
"Miss Bagnold will also be questioned." Another collective nod. Two decisions.
"Aye, and when it comes to it how about pulling in a few Unspeakables too? Someone's bound to know about a great big tank of brains, right?" An anitpodean accent filled the room, emanating from the man in the Stetson. "Not to mention that we've never heard of anything like this, ever. What the strewth was going on in there, that's what I want to know."
"Patience, High Counsellor. The removal of Cornelius Fudge may well ring alarm bells in certain people's heads that we do not want rung."
"Yes, indeed. We must move quietly. Perhaps a short holiday somewhere would do him good… for his health, obviously…" Yet more nods.
"And then…?"
There was hardness in Dumbledore's voice as his memories came trickling back. He'd been unable to square the person he had been with the venerable, grandfather-like figure that he presented to his students, but the hardness was there, nonetheless. It was necessary. Here and now, he was Chief Warlock. Warlock. Maybe the rest of his old self would become necessary too before long.
"And then we strike. Hard, but unseen and above all quietly. Perkins must be captured and level nine of the Ministry must be watched at all times. We shall have to find some pretext upon which to question the Unspeakables. There may be more than one sleeper left. We may have to use Veritaserum."
"What of the Aurors, Chief Warlock? Some of them will doubtless side with Fudge."
The other suited man spoke quietly in response. "After the Minister has left for his… holiday, we can bring the administration under our direct control. There will be no dissent, not if things go smoothly enough so that we are not seen to be interfering. After all, we do nominate the head of government. I daresay that someone will prove…amenable to guidance now and again."
His companion nodded thoughtfully. "After all, going abroad can be so very dangerous in these troubled times. I am sure that the Minister will understand that his…poor health will prevent him from re-assuming his responsibilities."
"If, that is, we do not send him to Azkaban."
"Indeed."
"Chief Warlock, how many Aurors would be on our side in the event of… trouble?"
Dumbledore cast a glance at the rest of the council. They were the very best witches and wizards of their respective countries or territories, capable administrators, diplomats, fighters and politicians, but the last decade and a half had softened wills. It would be best for there not to be any alarms raised at all, but if it did come to it… He gave his answer, hating it.
"For certain, two. Possibly as many as ten."
There was a collective straightening of backs. "Only two?" asked the model-like witch. "How… wait, the need for secrecy?"
Dumbledore nodded. "Cornelius Fudge has been slowly restricting my contacts in the Ministry ever since I was voted out of both this body and the International Confederation. Now that I am back, and scared of my – apparent" he allowed himself a small smile as he remembered the last time that Fudge had been in his office "– plot to claim his position, all those who see the world as I do have been either sacked or silenced. We cannot, therefore, count on the Aurors. We must do this by stealth. Question him, find out the truth, and simultaneously detain Perkins - quietly. We are already in a state of open war, but this also must be done with the minimum of fuss. If there are any more sleepers amongst the Aurors – and it is entirely possible that Mr Weasley's experiences may have missed certain things – then we must be sure that we do not arouse suspicion beyond having Mr Perkins "disappear".
We must be seen to operate as normal and there must be as little disturbance as possible. To that end, I propose that we "promote" Mr Perkins. I shall take care of this as and when the opportunity arises."
The kimono'd lady smiled like a snake. "I see", she purred. "How thespian of you. Shall we promote him "to Glory"?"
"No, High Counsellor. To the Centaur Liaison Office."
Reader's Note: Promoting someone "to Glory" is a way of giving them a fast-track route to the afterlife, and the Centaur Liaison Office is a dead-end department in the Ministry: Office gossip says that any holder of the post of Centaur Liaison Officer isn't going to last much longer as a civil servant. See Dangerous Beasts and Where to Find Them (Bloomsbury) for more info.
Like your madness? Read my laughfic "Puffskein Panic!"