Well, thought Harry, they had made it. It had been a job getting some of the less magical members of their group into the Leaky Cauldron (Mark still swore he saw nothing), Nina had dawdled a bit over the school supplies, and they had asked four people, at least two of whom were generally agreed to be less than savory, where the correct phone booth was, but they were finally at the ministry.
Now they had to get in to see the new minister of magic, facing down an army of bored-looking counter-dwelling clerks who Arabella suspected were at least thirty years her junior. The Look-I'm-Harry-Potter routine, which they had spent half an hour convincing Harry to even attempt, had failed. The pretence of registering their group in the official ministry ledger had gotten them as far as an ancient and even more bored looking scribe. The name Dursley meant nothing to the clerks, and they laughed at Dorian's gun, until he shot a hole through the roof, at which point it was confiscated with an authoritative Accio. It was time for the Wizard Muggle alliance and its newest fans to lie through their teeth.
Harry disappeared into the men's room with Brian and returned fifteen minutes later with a sufficiently important-looking man—it was a good thing the sixth year curriculum had covered Glamours and the D'Angelo delegation was already wearing businesslike suits--, and Brian stormed up to the desk.
"As the Cornish Ambassador to England, I demand audience with the Minister of Magic!"
The clerks looked at each other dubiously—they apparently hadn't studied the geography of the wizarding world very thoroughly—and finally let them pass. McClaggen waited in an expensive seeming but simple office down the hall.
"Why, hello, Mr… oh what is the Cornish minister called again?"
"Sir, my name is Dorian Dursley, and I don't believe the Cornish are still a country in either world."
"Dursley?" he gasped. "Why, you were certainly in several of the briefings from my advisors. Want to assassinate me, do you?"
"No sir. I'm from the D'Angelo Dursleys. In the short run, we want the protection we had twenty years ago from the Bagnold Administration. Amulet spells regenerated, midwives reinstated, and so on. In the long run, we're gunning for a Revelation."
McClaggen thought a minute. "Oh, I have been expecting a visit from you. Yes, the midwives are already being prepared; trainee healers from St. Mungos have already been assigned—they just need to finalize travel plans. Amulets should be up to full force soon. But what is this Revelation?"
Dorian frowned, pleased at the protection pledged and obviously debating whether to bring up his ultimate goal yet. He decided to go for it.
"Revelation, sir, is the opposite of what you wizards refer to as the Seculsion. The D'Angelo Dursleys believe the world has moved past the days of witch burnings. We want to gradually acclimate the muggle world to the wizard race once again, and we need your permission to do it."
A vein in McClaggen's neck appeared to be in danger of popping out of his skin. "You want me to do what? In war time? You make it sound as if you're asking to start up the Gobstone league again. I'm sorry, but you gentlemen are going to have to wait a few centuries. The muggles have enough nuclear weapons to annihilate us ten times over. For Morgana's sake, men, there are six billion of them and six million of us!"
Mark cleared his throat. "With all due respect, minister, we have noticed a dramatic downturn of religious fanaticism in government the last ten years in the muggle world, especially in Europe. With the proper tact and evidence of non-demon affiliation, it should work splendidly. As for the wartime, didn't the idea of having to hide his abilities drive the half-blood known as Lord Voldemort to start on his path of genocide in the first place?"
McClaggen's forehead remained rigid. "I'm sorry, but you people can't even convince your distant relatives—you are related to the other Dursleys, correct?"
Brian nodded.
"You can't convince your distant cousins to believe you. Why should anyone else?"
Dorian grinned slyly. "So, if we can convert the rest of the Dursleys, you'll help us?"
McClaggen wagged his finger at them. "I can't promise anything, but it would be a fantastic start, as well as a convenience to us at the ministry. I can't think of anyone offhand that's more fanatical about witchcraft."
"Thank you sir. We should be back in a matter of weeks."
The group departed swiftly. "What do you mean?" Petunia hissed in Dorian's ear as they left the Ministry.
"Oh," Dorian told her, "This is better than what I expected. I found some interesting things in my attic about a month ago, one of which was my grandfather's diary. I've been meaning to talk to those other Dursleys for a while now…"
Hestia the Witch: Tedious as those three words can be, I thought it better not to insult my one consistent reviewer...
