Disclaimer: Harry Potter remains the property of J.K. Rowling and any other publishers or organisations which I don't know, but don't want to anger. The concept of the Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon. I am not making any profit whatsoever in writing this story. I write purely for the sake of my own and others enjoyment.
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Chapter Eleven: The Ministry
"We can't be that thick, surely? We should have found something by now," grumbled Ron as he absentmindedly flipped another page of the large leather-bound book on his lap, not taking the time to even look at the page. Hermione, noticing this, scowled.
"If you're going to research, Ronald, make sure you actually research?" she said disapprovingly, then dipped her quill into the ink bottle on the table by her side and scribbled some notes on a piece of parchment. She, too, was flipping through a book, although with a lot more resolve than Ron.
Ron glowered unpleasantly at nothing in particular before snapping the book shut and dumping it in the pile that lay haphazardly by his feet. Then he put his head in his hands. "If I wanted a lesson in How to polish a cauldron in Fifty Different Fantastical Ways I'd have asked Percy for one."
"No you wouldn't have," Hermione said patiently, not even glancing up from her note-taking.
Ron glared at the floor.
Harry, who had been told all about the wayward Percy, thought it best to intervene before the situation got out of hand, as almost always happened with Ron and Hermione recently.
"You have to admit Ron's right, Hermione," he said. "We've been looking through all these books and we haven't found a single mention of Brillogsapor Clanniria –"
"That's because you two thickheads can't be bothered doing the proper research," she said nastily, quite ignoring Harry and Ron's open mouths. "You'd rather play chase across the drawing room with those spoons Fred and George enchanted for you. And don't think I haven't seen you at it!" she added as both boys blushed.
"Well what about the twins and Ginny!" said Ron, trying to save face in all his embarrassment. "Why aren't they helping?"
"Someone needs to keep watch, don't they?" said Hermione in a bland voice that suggested Ron hadn't even asked a stupid enough question to warrant a passionate answer on her part. "There are at least three different entrances leading up and around to this drawing room. The twins and Ginny are the lookouts. They're not here because they're making sure that no one sees we're looking through all these dark arts books."
Ron's ears went red at Hermione's tone, but he, incredibly, didn't pursue the potential argument, apparently still too embarrassed at his slight.
But that didn't mean Hermione wasn't going to pursue it. "And what about your promise?" she now said. "About not fooling around if you want to truly accomplish this?"
Both Harry and Ron ducked their heads at that, avoiding Hermione's probing gaze.
"And," she continued diligently, seeing that she'd finally gotten them on the defensive, "I would have thought that you, at least, would be serious about all this Harry –"
"What do you mean by that!" said Ron angrily. "Are you saying I'm never serious?"
Hermione took a deep controlled breath through her nose. "No, I only meant because Harry's dad was an animagus, so Harry should try to work harder at all this. He has more to live up to, and should have more driving him on, so to speak."
"Yeah, well . . ." Ron stuttered, becoming embarrassed at yet another blunder on his part.
But he didn't have a chance to be embarrassed for long this time, as Ginny's head popped through the door. "A whole bunch of them are coming! Mum as well!"
Quickly, calmly, and with precisely planned movements that indicated that they might have done this all before, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny gathered the parchments, inkbottles, quills, and books and shuffled them under the coffee table before covering the lot with Harry's invisibility cloak. Just outside the door, they could hear Fred and George in the middle of spouting off one of their highly dramatized distraction techniques.
"So is it true –" Fred began in a tone that a Daily Prophet reporter might use.
"– and it's alright if you say it isn't, our hearts won't break, we assure you –"George interrupted using a similar tone.
"– that young Australian wizarding folk –"
"– our age or thereabouts –"
" – prick themselves with wild Billywigs –"
"– deliberately, mind you –"
" – in order to achieve a high effect? –"
"– emphasis on 'high' by the way. –"
"– But what we really wanted to know was if you tri–"
Mrs Weasley's impatient screech of "Move!" was drowned out by Elizabeth's roar of complete laughter.
A minute later, once the laughter had subsided, Elizabeth told them quite teasingly, "I might have had a go in my younger years," before the door was opened and she stepped across the threshold. Fred and George followed directly behind, their faces a mixture of silent awe and cheeky grins. Stepping in behind them were a chuckling Sirius and Professor Lupin, and a disproving looking Mrs Weasley.
She stopped looking so disproving when she saw what Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were doing. "Ah good," she said sounding surprised. "I can see you're still hard at work, unlike some of my children.
"Now that is not fair Mum, indeed it isn't," said George, sounding innocently offended.
"I'll decide what's fair and what's not! I'm your mother!" snapped Mrs Weasley before scanning the room suspiciously. "You don't look like you've done much work from yesterday."
"What do you mean?" Ron sputtered indignantly. "I've got blisters and cuts on my hands here!"
He failed to mention that he'd received those blisters from a rather temperamental book entitled Burning Snap Plants, and the cuts from violently turning too many sharp pages.
"Well we'll just have to put some coltsfoot spray on that then, clear it right up."
Ron made a face at Mrs Weasley's apparent lack of worry.
"Though, I can't imagine where you got the blisters from," she now continued, not seeing Ron's suddenly pale face. "Unless there's some undiluted Bubotuber pus in one of the cupboards that you didn't see until it was too late. Oh, and that reminds me. Don't open that writing desk in the corner. I think there might be a boggart in it, but I'm not sure; it was rattling a couple of times. I'll ask Moody to have a quick look tonight after dinner."
"There's a boggart in it," said Elizabeth quietly and with firm conviction, staring at the seemingly innocent writing table.
The only person who did not look confused by that statement was Harry, who was the only one that knew, from previous experience, that Elizabeth was a Slayer, could sense dark creatures, and so, would have no problem pinpointing a boggart.
Elizabeth, finally seeing the odd looks she was receiving from everyone but her brother, had to think fast in order to secure her position. "Um, I've got experience with boggarts," she said rather lamely, then turned to Harry, shrugging slightly, as if to tell him that that was the best she could come up with when put on the spot.
Harry tried desperately not to grin at her nonchalant attitude.
"Well, if you say so," said Mrs Weasley a bit hesitantly, and added, almost reluctantly, "but I'd rather wait for Moody's confirmation if it's all the same to you dear."
"Go for it," Elizabeth responded, not unkindly. "But it doesn't matter anyway; I only came in to get the Babe. We're due for a long chat with the mutts here." She jerked her thumb at Sirius and Professor Lupin, who looked like they didn't know whether to be offended or amused.
As it was, her comment produced various snickers from all the teenagers present, prominent of which were Fred, George, and Ron.
Harry, a bit red-faced, shuffled over to stand beside his sister. "How long is this 'conversation' going to take?" He already had a fair idea what it was going to be about.
"Probably until lunchtime, unless something untoward happens!"
Her ominous statement was not in the least reassuring, and Harry had to stop his mind from imagining all sorts of unpleasant reactions from Sirius and Professor Lupin.
"Alright then. See you at lunch," he told the others, before his arm was being hooked in Elizabeth's and she was marching him out of the room and up the stairs, Professor Lupin and Sirius following.
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Looking back two hours later, Harry had to allow that it wasn't the most pleasant discussion he'd ever had. In fact, it had been the worst, most possibly. Never had he felt such guilt, shame, and anger all rolled into one helpless ball that was Harry Potter's conscience. And Elizabeth certainly hadn't been helping matters with her endless dry comments. But it was Professor Lupin and especially Sirius for whom he had felt the guilt and shame; the anger had been solely directed at Elizabeth.
The conversation had started, inevitably, with Lupin and Sirius asking all the correct questions, getting, in response, the correct – if unexpected and shocking – answers, and then becoming, in Harry's view, justifiably furious. (Or at least, Sirius had become justifiably furious, then justifiably silent). Lupin had seemed unseeing as he stared at Elizabeth, as though he couldn't quite believe what he had just been told, but instinctively knowing it was the truth.
Eventually, Elizabeth had demonstrated a small bit of her power (lifting up Sirius's large four poster bed five meters off of the ground using only the tip of her pinkie finger) until they had been shocked into believing silence, then believing anger, voicing aloud their accusations of unfairness, among which "James should have told us!" being the most prominent.
Elizabeth, getting annoyed with their continual references to the foolishness of James Potter's decisions, had responded irritably with "You weren't the centre of the universe. There were more important things going on then a couple of wayward friends who'd deserted him!"
Harry had seen by the horrified expression on her face that she had meant to take it back as soon as she'd said it, but the damage had been done. There had been a terrible silence. Sirius had stared at her a long while before standing up and walking with precise movements out of the room. Lupin had followed soon after, brow furrowed. And that was when Harry had become angry.
He had known Elizabeth had a bit of a wild streak, and a bit of a temper when provoked. He knew that when she thought she was right, she could become downright nasty at times. Not in any cruel thing she said or did deliberately – because she hardly said or did cruel things – but she had a way of making you feel as if you were the guilty party, as if you were the stupid one, as if you had done wrong, and not her, (no matter if you had or hadn't). In this case, however, Elizabeth had known it was she who had been the stupid one, she who had made the blunder; and because of that Harry's anger with her had not lasted very long, especially when he'd seen how small and shocked she had looked at her own callousness.
He had calmly told her that she was a stupid git, and she had replied with a soft, "I know Harry." Then she had sniffled, and sobbed, and cried, both silently and loudly, while he held her and stroked her soft black hair; for once feeling the comforter instead of the comforted, for once feeling like the adult. And the situation had not seemed to be at all uncomfortable to him. It had seemed . . . right. Perhaps a bit serene, (like the world had gone mental momentarily) but right. And he had finally realised that this was what being a sibling and a brother was all about. Giving and receiving comfort. Knowing when to admonish and when not to. Despite everything that had happened with Sirius and Lupin, he had felt rather proud of himself in that moment, and it had filled him with a feeling of belonging, a sense of duty that he knew he could never abandon now, especially when he'd only just discovered it and its meaning.
After a short while they had drawn back and Elizabeth had wiped her eyes with the palms of her hands, giving him a watery smile. Then a ferocious light had suddenly come into those eyes and she'd marched out of the room. Harry hadn't followed her, instinctively knowing she had perhaps gone to patch things up with Sirius and Professor Lupin. Sure enough all three had come back an hour later, their eyes a little redder, but looking like a heavy burden had been taken off their shoulders.
They had all seated themselves down on the bed next to Harry, and Elizabeth had explained briefly that she and Sirius and Lupin had talked, and they had all decided that they weren't going to tell the Order or anyone else about her unusualness, about her powers. And that was something that they had all mutually agreed on; the main argument being that it would question the trust the Order had placed in Dumbledore, since the old man hadn't told them about it to begin with. Otherwise, it would create dissent and a feeling of betrayal. No, they weren't going to tell. This also meant that they weren't going to say anything about the other two Slayers. Harry had almost blurted "Two?" but Elizabeth had subtlety gestured not to, and then he remembered it wasn't his or her secret to tell.
He'd ask, a bit confusedly, what they were now going to tell the Order members instead, since they would surely be expecting explanations of some sort.
"Don't worry Harry," Elizabeth had said, running a gentle hand through his hair, "we've worked it all out." Which Harry thought was quite an achievement considering the Order meeting was just that night.
Professor Lupin had gone on to add that they'd already contacted Dumbledore and had explained to him Elizabeth's decision, and the headmaster had agreed not to interfere in their telling of the pseudo story to the Order.
"Besides," Sirius had said, "If there are any traitor Death Eater spies that have infiltrated the Order again (he all but spelled out the word SNAPE, much to Lupin's disproval) we can make sure they don't acquire any juicy bits of information. And an actual living, not so mythologised Slayer would be a juicy bit of information."
Harry had actually felt relief at that. Though he hadn't known whether it was because he now knew Elizabeth's secret was truly safe, or, if it was because he had only wanted to keep the secret within the family, so to speak. Maybe it was a mixture of both.
Now, as he looked at the three people who more or less made up the only real family he had, (except for Ron and Hermione, whom Elizabeth had given Harry full consent to tell her secret to) Harry thought that life really couldn't get much better. Sirius, Professor Lupin, and Elizabeth had reconciled, and splendidly so. They had even taken to joking with each other again. Harry felt like he could watch them forever and be content.
"What are you looking so happy about?" Elizabeth now asked, observing Harry's expression.
"Just thinking how nice it is to be here with you all," Harry answered truthfully.
Sirius grinned at him.
"Anyway babe, I should probably tell you that we're going to the Ministry today, in about an hour as a matter of fact. Arthur's told me how to get there," said Elizabeth suddenly, shocking him. And apparently shocking Sirius and Professor Lupin as well, if their raised eyebrows were anything to attest by.
"W-why?" Harry stuttered. He didn't know why he, Harry, would have to go to the Ministry of Magic. He knew the ministry hated him, thanks in part to his friends' recent confessions and in part to recent copies of the Daily Prophet. The Ministry thought him a liar. The Ministry thought him crazy. He didn't want to go anywhere near that place.
"Well, I have to register with them because I'm from Australia and I want to move to England. The basic gist is I have to give them my residential address, where I work, my name . . . Not my real name of course," she added after seeing Harry's confused frown. "I'll go under a pseudonym. Elizabeth Evans, instead of Elizabeth Potter. Like I did in school. I'm probably going to have to get a job as well, come to think of it –"
"But then why do I have to go?" Harry interrupted. "Why do I have to –?"
"Because you're not going to be living with the Dursley's anymore, you're going to be living with me. I'm going to have to tell the Ministry that I'm a long lost relative from your mother's side; second Cousin or something. We need to register your name and address too, because you're moving to a different home. Oh, that reminds me, we'll have to go to the Dursley's before going to the Ministry," she continued, pretending not to notice Harry's open mouth. "We have to get them to hand their guardianship of you over to me, thus transferring the blood protection wards . . . etcetera etcetera."
"Oh," was all Harry said.
"I'm coming with you," said Sirius in a voice that expected no argument.
"Si –" Professor Lupin began just as Elizabeth said cheerfully, "Sure!"
There was a bite of irritability in Lupin's sigh as he threw Sirius a look. "I don't think you can go, Sirius. Death Eaters are all over the Ministry. They know your animagus form. Besides, I don't think Dumbledore will allow you."
Sirius didn't say anything to that, but Harry thought he saw a tightening of his jaw.
"Right," said Elizabeth, moving her eyes from Sirius to Professor Lupin and back again without even bothering to look unobtrusive. "I think we should go then, Harry."
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"Here we are," said Harry dully. "Number Four Private Drive. Residents: Dursley V, P, D, and the TV . . ." Harry paused at what he'd just said. "I think I'm spending way to much time around you Ellie, that's something only you would say."
Elizabeth laughed only for three seconds this time instead of her usual three minutes. "What did you just call me?"
Harry looked at her from under his glasses. "Er . . . it just sort of slipped out," he mumbled extremely quickly. "I mean, I don't have to call you that if you don't want –"
"Are you kidding? That's a cool nickname! You know, surprisingly, no one's ever called me that before. But," she added with a hint of a warning growl, "if you call me Lizzy I will be forced to disembowel you."
"Got it," Harry said, grinning.
"Precisely," she said, then both she and Harry walked up the front porch. Elizabeth pointed out things along the way that she found interesting or unusual, such as Dudley's cigarette packet that he'd tried to hide in one of Aunt Petunia's pot plants. But Elizabeth had spotted that easily with her preternatural eyesight. "Nasty habit to get into. I'll smash you over the head if you so much as touch one of those babe," she'd warned.
Also, she had found a fifty pound note lurking under the doormat. How she'd found it Harry would never understand because the doormat had been covering it; but Elizabeth had explained she had more or less heard it crinkle when they had stepped on the mat. Elizabeth had put the note back after Harry told her it was probably Dudley's secret hiding place that hosted all the money he'd nicked from unsuspecting kids — it being, in Dudley's mind, the least conspicuous and the least likely to be found out.
Harry glanced once more at Elizabeth in an are-you-sure-you-really-want-to-do-this sort of way. Elizabeth only threw him an unimpressed look and Harry rapped smartly on the door with the back of his knuckles. For some inexplicable reason, he was feeling very apprehensive about this meeting. No, that wasn't right. He knew the reason, and that was why he was feeling apprehensive. With everything Elizabeth knew about the Dursley's, Harry was suddenly praying that she wouldn't pick Dudley up and throw him through the window or something.
A short while later the door opened to reveal Aunt Petunia looking rather comical in her very proper day dress complete with pink rubber cleaning gloves, having just come from her after lunch bout of wiping down the cupboards.
Her pale green eyes widened now, looking between Harry and Elizabeth. Two spots of bright colour appeared on her bony cheeks, and her lips pursed, becoming almost non-existent.
"What do you want!" she snapped at Harry, completely ignoring Elizabeth for the time being. Either because Aunt Petunia was scared of her since she thought Elizabeth was a witch, or because she was too annoyed at Harry for having shown up on her doorstep yet again and took to concentrating on him.
"Can we go inside, Aunt Petunia, we won't take long?"
Now Aunt Petunia's mouth really did become nonexistent, and for the first time she cast her attention towards Elizabeth. "And who are you? You better not be –"
"Now really Aunt Petunia," said Elizabeth in a voice that sounded less than impressed. "I didn't think you'd forget your only niece so soon." Then she breezed into the house, Harry following, both of them politely ignoring Aunt Petunia's dropped jaw as they walked passed her.
In the living room Elizabeth sat down on the couch and placed her hands behind her head, looking highly comfortable, though a tad out of place in her black leather jacket and tight jeans. She threw Harry a cheeky wink as he sat down next to her. Aunt Petunia walked in moments later, her wide eyes not leaving Elizabeth's form.
"Have a seat Aunt," Elizabeth offered politely, gesturing to the armchair that sat beside the couch.
Aunt Petunia moved to sit, though tremblingly, on the offered chair, her bony hands clutching her chest and her eyes flickering between the two almost identical siblings that lounged on the sofa.
Harry and Elizabeth couldn't have known what their Aunt was thinking. They could have guessed, but they wouldn't have come very close. Petunia was thinking not about how her supposedly dead niece of fifteen years had come back to life, but about how this young woman so resembled her late sister, except for some of the features, and the hair; the hair was pitch black, like Harry's.
"Well," Petunia said now, giving a great uncaring, snobbish sniff. "If I'd have known you were still alive I'd have sent him to you."
"We all wished," was what Elizabeth said to that, and curtly, momentarily startling Aunt Petunia.
"Well you obviously want something if you and the boy showed up here," said Aunt Petunia, recovering suddenly from Elizabeth's previous glower. "And I'll tell you this now; we're not giving you any money so you can –"
Elizabeth snorted contemptuously. "Oh please, we have more money separately than you'll have in three lifetimes. But I digress. We're only here so you can formally . . . denounce (Elizabeth sneered at the word) Harry, giving him to me under my care. He'll never darken your doorstep again."
For the first time Aunt Petunia looked uncertain. "W-what do you mean? I can't –"
"Don't worry Aunt," Elizabeth interrupted. "I have Albus Dumbledore's permission. You won't get in trouble for this."
Harry was having a difficult time following that last bit of their conversation, but he understood the gist of it.
"W-well I . . . I . . . alright," said their Aunt finally, her shoulders dropping a little. "But if you're lying to me . . ."
Elizabeth held up both hands. "I swear on my mother's grave," she said, and Harry had to fight a sudden horrifying jolt of reality.
Aunt Petunia looked between them again. "What do I have to do?" she asked quietly.
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Harry couldn't believe it! He was finally free of the Dursley's forever. He hadn't stopped smiling since they'd left Number Four Private Drive. And now, even though they stood in front of an old red telephone box which was positioned beside a graffitied building in a shabby looking street with a few tatty offices and a pub, he was still smiling. Elizabeth noticed and smirked, but she didn't comment. Instead she opened the telephone-box door and sidled in, Harry following after her.
It was a tight fit. If he had been with any girl but Elizabeth he would think he'd be slapped for inappropriate invasion of space. His shoulder was jammed painfully against the telephone apparatus and his shirt had ridden up his back a little from moving against the glass of the box.
"Right then," said Elizabeth reaching for the dangling telephone, which looked like someone had tried to rip out of its socket. She held it in front of her face. "Arthur said to press six, two, four, four and two." She dialled the numbers and quirked a brow at Harry. "Let's hope he was right, eh babe."
As the dial whirred smoothly back into place, a cool female voice sounded inside the telephone box, not from the receiver in Elizabeth's hand, but from everywhere at once, like the electronic voices found in a muggle elevator.
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."
"Oh . . . um," said Elizabeth, looking momentarily stumped. Clearly she hadn't expected this questioning. "Um, Elizabeth Evans and Harry Potter on change of residential address? Oh, and in my case change of residential country . . ."
She shrugged silently at Harry.
"Thank you," said the cool female voice. "Visitors, please take the badges and attach it to the front of your robes."
There was a click and a rattle, and Harry saw two somethings slide out of the metal chute where returned coins usually appeared. He picked one up: it was a square sliver badge with Elizabeth Evans, International Transfer on it. He handed this to Elizabeth while she gave him his, which read Harry Potter, Residential Change. They pinned it to the front of their shirts as the female voice spoke again.
"Visitors to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wands for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."
The floor of the telephone box shuddered and began to sink into the ground. They watched apprehensively as they sank below the pavement. After a minute or so they saw a chink of golden light at their feet, which, as they sank, began getting larger and larger until it hit them square in the face. Their eyes watering, they stepped out of the telephone box just as the woman's voice said, "The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day."
"Pleasant day my butt," Elizabeth grumbled, glaring at the busy tide of Ministry workers that scrambled this way and that in the large hall.
Harry, however, couldn't keep his mouth from dropping open. The place was huge! And looked to be very expensive. Everything seemed to be inlaid with gold or peacock blue colouring. The walls on each side were panelled in shiny dark wood and had many gilded fireplaces set into them. Every few seconds a witch or wizard would emerge from one of the left-hand fireplaces with a soft whoosh. On the right-hand side, short queues were forming before each fireplace, waiting to depart.
"Would you look at that rubbish!" Elizabeth exclaimed pointing to a fountain halfway down the length of the hall. Harry could see what Elizabeth had meant at once. The fountain was comprised of a group of golden statues; a noble-looking wizard, his wand pointing straight in the air, a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin, and a house elf. The last three were all looking adoringly at the witch and wizard, which was what had offended Elizabeth so much. Out of the three, the only creature that really looked itself was the house elf.
They joined the throng of Ministry workers, some of whom were carrying tottering piles of parchment, others battered briefcases. As they passed the fountain, they could see bronze knuts (only a of couple silver sickles) glittering on the bottom of the pond.
A small smudged sign beside the fountain read:
ALL PROCEEDS FROM THE FOUNTAIN OF MAGICAL BRETHEREN WILL BE GIVEN TO ST MUNGO'S HOSPITAL FOR MAGICAL MALADIES AND INJURIES.
"What say we put in a few Galleons, babe?" said Elizabeth, "If only for the hospital patients. No way would I give it to these scumbuckets." She didn't trouble to keep her voice down and a trio of passing wizards and one witch glared hostilely at her. Elizabeth muttered something very rude that the witch and wizards didn't hear, but which caused Harry's ears to burn. But she did lift a brow at them that suggested she was saying, Yes, have you had a good look? If so, then get lost!
They did, and hastily at that, darting away through the large crowd, unconsciously reading something dangerous and predatory in Elizabeth's stance. She smiled smugly.
Then she and Harry each tipped five Galleons into the pond before continuing onwards.
They made their way out of the throng of ministry wizards and witches and to the large golden gates at the end of the hall. Just in front and to the left of the gates sat a badly shaven wizard leaning on a desk and reading the Daily Prophet. A sign on the desk said SECURITY.
Elizabeth walked up to the desk, Harry following in the space beside her. When the security wizard didn't look up from his paper Elizabeth sighed irritably and smacked her palm on the desk, causing the wizard to jump and stare wildly with wide eyes and slackened jaw. Harry wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a couple of cracks in the desk where Elizabeth's palm had been.
"Now that we have your exalted attention . . ." drawled Elizabeth dryly, "can we get on with the procedure?" She gestured a thumb at herself and Harry. "We're visitors to the Ministry."
"Right," grunted the wizard, finally closing his jaw. "Step over here."
Elizabeth stepped up first, walking around the desk until she stopped before the wizard. He held up a long golden rod, thin and flexible, like a car aerial. Elizabeth stared at it, then at him, and said, "Hope you're not going to get fresh with that."
Harry silently sniggered as the security wizard's jaw fell for the second time within the space of a minute.
"Well get on with it!" said Elizabeth sharply. Harry might have imagined the wink she tipped in his direction, it was so fast; but he didn't think so.
The security wizard, having got over his shock, passed the rod up and down Elizabeth's front and back.
"Wand," the wizard grunted now, the twin spots of colour on his cheeks disappearing.
Elizabeth placed her wand on a balance scale-like creation, except it had one dish instead of two. It began to vibrate. A narrow strip of parchment came shooting out of a slip in the base. The wizard tore this off and read the writing on it.
"Ten and a half inches, dragon-heartstring core, been in use eight years. Is that correct?"
"If you say so," said Elizabeth happily.
The wizard jaw dropped for the third time. Clearly, he didn't know what to make of this girl who didn't follow procedure.
"I get to keep this," was all he said, impaling the paper on a spike at his side. "You get this back." He thrust the wand back in Elizabeth's hand.
Then it was Harry's turn.
He followed through the same process as Elizabeth (except without bothering to make the security wizard uncomfortable) until the parchment came shooting out of the scales again. The wizard read it.
"Eleven inches, phoenix-feather core, been in use four years." The security wizard glanced nervously at Elizabeth before saying, "Is that correct?"
Harry nodded and the wizard gave him his wand.
"Thank you," Harry said.
"Hang on . . ." said the wizard slowly.
His eyes had darted from the silver badge on Harry's chest to his forehead.
Elizabeth grabbed Harry's arm and said in a sweetly polite voice that fooled no one. "Thank you for all your help." Then she dragged him away from the security wizard (whose jaw had dropped a fourth time) until they stepped back into the stream of ministry witches and wizards that were passing through the gate.
They followed the ministry workers through the gate and into a smaller hall beyond where there rested about twenty lifts behind wrought iron grails. Elizabeth and Harry followed a bunch of arguing wizards into a lift.
"Do you want to go see Arthur Weasley first?" Elizabeth whispered in his ear just as one of the wizard's blurted out with "That's not how it works Bode, I had to have mine removed! Don't know where you've been treated."
Elizabeth continued like she hadn't heard anything. "That way we can get directions, and we won't have to work around the Ministry all by ourselves."
Harry nodded.
The lift ascended, chains rattling. They stopped on several levels, waiting for some wizards to get off and some to get on and take their place. Finally, the cool female voice said, "Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Offices."
"I think this is us, babe."
Harry and Elizabeth squeezed themselves out of the lift and just in time, as it shut behind them.
At loss with what to do, (because there was nothing there except windows) Elizabeth suggested they follow the path of the hall. They did so and as they turned a corner they found themselves standing before a pair of giant oak doors. They pushed these open and emerged into a cluttered area divided into cubicles, which was buzzing with talk and laughter. Paper aeroplanes zipped from one cubicle to the next. Elizabeth stopped the first witch they came across (a drab looking woman with a roundish figure) and asked where the Improper Use of Magic Office was.
"Just down the hall and take a right turn, deary," said the woman, whom, despite looking so drab seemed to be very kind. They thanked the woman ("No trouble at all dears.") and made their way passed the cubicles.
As they reached one of the end cubicles they spotted Kingsley Shacklebot, Order member, deep in conversation with an elderly wizard. He spotted them, a look of surprise appearing briefly on his face. Harry, who had been about to wave, found his hand grabbed before he had even raised it an inch.
"Say rot or say not," said Elizabeth grimly, and she prodded him onwards.
Harry had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.
At last they reached the Improper Use of Magic Office, which was situated in a shabby hallway. They could see Mr Weasley's balding head as they approached his cubicle. Also in the cubicle was a timid looking old wizard with fluffy white hair.
"Hello Arthur," said Elizabeth, and Mr Weasley jumped, whipping around.
He looked delighted to see them. "Oh yes, I was expecting you today Elizabeth, Harry."
"Hello Mr Weasley," said Harry, grinning.
"This is Perkins," Mr Weasley told them, gesturing to the stooped old wizard. The old wizard nodded kindly at them, then bent his head back down and continued on with his note taking. "Now," Mr Weasley continued seriously. "I suppose you don't know where you're going?"
The siblings nodded.
"I can show you the way if you want, but I've really got to finish that report on those regurgitating toilets in Bethnal Green." Mr Weasley paused and seemed to consider. "Tell you what; let's say I just give you directions. You'll want to go to level five, Department of International Magical Cooperation — they handle all international affairs."
"Oh, we know where that is, Arthur!" said Elizabeth half happily, looking half relieved that she didn't have to bother Mr Weasley with his job. "We just passed it in the lifts."
"Right . . ." said Mr Weasley, looking surprised. "That's well done . . . Well when you get there look for Ethel Bigaspoil, she's a fair sort and doesn't ask too many questions." Then he lowered his voice before saying the next bit. "Is your, erm, family name going to be a problem?"
Elizabeth shook her head. "Everything's sorted out."
"Wonderful!" said Mr Weasley, and bounced on the balls of his feet.
"Just one question," said Elizabeth. Mr Weasley stopped bouncing and gave her his attention. "Um, just how does Ethel Bigaspoil look like? Only, we won't be able to find her otherwise . . ."
"Didn't I tell you?" said Mr Weasley. Before Elizabeth could reply, he spoke again. "Well she's rather like a mop. Even has the long stringy hair. Only don't tell her I said that!" he added hastily.
"Gotcha!" said Elizabeth, grinning. "We'll be going then. Oh, you do know Molly's making meatballs for dinner –"
"Yes, can hardly wait." Then Mr Weasley lowered his voice before saying the next bit. "I've invited Kingsley Shackolebot too, should be quite a full house tonight."
"Snuffles will be pleased," said Elizabeth, and they both shook Mr Weasley's hand, bade him and Perkins goodbye, and made their way back to the lifts.
It was only when they reached the fifth level that they realised they'd forgotten to ask Mr Weasley where the registration offices were. But Elizabeth wasn't that concerned. "I've got a good nose," was all she said.
Though Harry couldn't imagine what a good nose had to do with being able to find the registration offices.
As they walked through the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Harry saw that it was set out in almost exactly the same way as the Auror Office. Except it was much neater, and the people seemed to be a lot more serious. Harry supposed this was because it hosted the International Magic Office of Law.
After sniffing around a couple of cubicles in search of the mop-like Ethel Bigaspoil, they finally found her at the end of the hall, sitting behind a desk and scribbling away on a piece of parchment. Stacks of parchment sat wobblingly on either side of her, and she seemed to be very harried. Even her greying hair, which was more like one of Hogwarts old broomsticks (with bits sticking out) seemed to have changed from Mr Weasley's assured mop-like status.
This time when the siblings stepped up to the desk, Ethel Bigaspoil looked up at once, and even though she seemed extremely busy, she gave them a kind smile.
"I'm Ethel Bigaspoil. Can I help you?"
"Yes," said Elizabeth, looking pleasantly surprised. "I want to move to England permanently."
"Well you certainly don't beat about the bush. Have a seat." She gestured to the thin air.
Harry, who was about to tell her that there were no seats, felt his eyes widen as two squishy armchairs shot through the middle isle and came to a skidded stop behind them. Elizabeth sat down comfortably, looking like this was an ordinary happening, and Harry followed her example, trying not to look as though he'd been surprised.
Ethel Bigaspoil took out a huge thick folder from a draw and plonked it on her desk.
"Now, what country are you transferring from?"
"Australia," Elizabeth answered.
Ethel Bigaspoil flicked her wand over the thick folder and the pages flipped at a super fast rate until they stopped on a yellow section.
"Ah, yes," she now said. "You would have attended Wackenwand Magical College just northeast of Hobart."
"That's right."
"And you graduated . . .?"
"November eleventh, 1993."
The ministry witch flicked through a couple of pages of the rusty yellow parchment.
"And your name?"
"Elizabeth Evans."
Ethel Bigaspoil ran her finger down the page, as though looking through a list.
"Ah, here you are!" she exclaimed. "Oh, it says you were born in England."
"That's right; I'm moving back to live with my remaining family."
"And you are currently living at 103 Ocean Crest View, just to the south of the Wizarding Sea Village of Wrigadoogong?"
"Yep!"
"And you wish to move to where . . .?"
"Surrey, Little Whinging."
Ethel Bigaspoil ran her wand over, what Harry assumed, was Elizabeth's name on the parchment.
"There, that should alert the Australian Ministry for Magic that you've changed countries. They will erase your name from their registration list. Nevertheless we will still have to send an owl . . ." She gestured with her wand, performing a come hither motion. Immediately, a paper aeroplane zoomed towards her. She scribbled something on it, and it whooshed away. "It'll take the message to the owlery. Now," Ethel Bigaspoil flicked her wand again and the huge folder snapped shut. Another flick and it soared into the draw by her side. One more flick and a different folder came flying out of the draw to land with a dull bang on her desk.
"Surrey, Little Whinging, you said?"
"That's right."
Ethel Bigaspoil flicked her wand yet again and the pages rustled until they flopped open to another yellow section.
"Oh," she said, looking surprised. "Well that's a coincidence."
"What's a coincidence?" said Elizabeth.
"Well it's just that . . . you'll be living near Harry Potter. He's the only wizard that's currently residing in that area." She chuckled. "Imagine that?" Then her eyes passed from Elizabeth to Harry. They paused. They flicked from Harry's badge to his forehead. Her laughter died out. "Oh!"
"Harry's the family I was talking about," said Elizabeth, a hint of warning in her voice. "He's my second cousin! And he'll be moving in with me as soon as we find the registration offices. We have permission from his current guardians . . ."
Ethel Bigaspoil shook her head, seeming as if she just came out of a trance. "Registration Offices, you said? Well that won't be necessary. We can do everything here if you like!"
Elizabeth perked up. "Really? That'll save us some time."
"Yes, yes, um . . ." she said, her eyes not leaving Harry. "I'd just like to say that I don't believe any of that Daily Prophet rubbish!" Then she glanced hastily around, as if she thought someone might have been listening in with a pair of Extendable Ears.
Harry and Elizabeth's mouths dropped half-open at that random confession.
"Er, thanks," said Harry.
Ethel Bigaspoil looked rather pleased. "Not at all, not at all. I'll just cross your name off the list." She flicked her wand. "And add it to your cousin's . . . oh dear, I seem to have misplaced your new address?"
Harry half expected Elizabeth to say "That's because I never gave it to you," in her dry tone, but she all she did was nod.
"Number 17, Magnolia Crescent."
Harry whipped his head so fast he heard a crack in his neck. "Magnolia Crescent?" He knew he would still be living in Little Whinging, but he'd had no idea that he'd be moving just a couple of streets away from the Dursley's, and so close to Mrs Figg.
Elizabeth shrugged and grinned at him.
Harry reminded himself to ask her why she kept dropping unexpected things into his lap and in unexpected situations — she only does it to shock me, thought Harry.
"There you are," said Ethel Bigaspoil now after putting back the folder and crossing her hands before her on the desk. "All finished. Have a nice day!"
"Thanks for your time," said Elizabeth, and both she and Harry stood up, the chairs immediately shooting down the middle isle until they came to rest against the wall opposite.
"Listen, Miss Evans," whispered Ethel Bigaspoil just as Harry and Elizabeth had turned to go. They turned back. "I won't inform anyone that you've been here if you don't wish me to. I know Mr Potter is in a . . . erm . . . rather delicate position at this time, and I know some people within the Ministry, some of whom are . . . let's just say their rather high up in the spectrum, probably wouldn't be too pleased to find he's switched residences."
Elizabeth smiled, her eyes sparkling with genuine gratitude. "Thank you very much."
"Yeah, thanks," said Harry, meaning it.
As they bid goodbye to the kindly ministry witch and made their way out of Level Five and down the lift, all Harry could think was that Mr Weasley's deduction of Ethel Bigaspoil's character was spot on and that if everyone who worked in the Ministry acted that way then there'd not be half as many problems and not half as many incompetent people. And there definitely wouldn't be any Cornelius Fudge's.
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A/N: I don't have anything against the name Lizzy
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