Walden Macnair
When Ares and Julian, protected by an Invisibility Spell, Apparated behind the old farmhouse, they first looked around cautiously. The Macnairs were often harassed by Aurors, and the two boys reckoned that the property was being observed by the Ministry. But the coast seemed to be clear.
"Hello?" called Tatyana Macnair from the back entrance door. "Is anybody out there?"
Ares made himself visible. "It's me, Mum!" he shouted, running towards her.
"Ares!" She flung her arms around him and hugged him. As she let go of him, she frowned and asked with a doubtful undertone: "Why aren't you at Hogwarts? You haven't done anything wrong, have you?"
"Don't worry, Mum, the Headmistress has officially allowed me to leave the school today. Me and my friend" – he was pointing at Julian, who now became also visible – "Julian Lestrange. We urgently need to talk to Dad."
Julian approached her, shook her hand with a slight bow and a warm smile, said "I am very pleased to meet you, Mrs Macnair" and drew a bouquet of flowers out of his robe that didn't fail to have the same effect on Tatyana as it had on Ginny a week earlier.
Meanwhile, Walden Macnair had stepped out of the house to see who had Apparated uninvited. To his Muggle neighbours, he was an elderly gentleman who had retired to the countryside to fulfil his dream of a farmhouse with a large fruit and vegetable garden, and who was living a quiet, secluded life with his wife who was about fifteen years younger than him and spoke English with some Eastern European accent. Never he was seen in the pub, never his wife shopping in one of the village shops, but little thought was given to that. Perhaps they would have wondered about the greenhouses on the grounds had they not been hidden by a Confundus Charm, but certainly about the plants grown there, not listed in any botany textbook.
With his wiry appearance and his sharp-featured face, accentuated by deepening wrinkles, Walden could well have been the retired officer some of his Muggle neighbours assumed him to be. Only the swashbuckling buccaneer grin with which he now welcomed his son and his friend suggested that he had been anything but a loyal soldier of Her Majesty in his former life.
Father and son welcomed each other with a short hug, then Walden shook the other boy's hand firmly.
"Julian Lestrange," the boy introduced himself. "Nice to meet you, sir."
Old Macnair waved him off. "To Ares' friends Walden, and to all Lestranges also Walden. Come in."
He led them into the small kitchen where the teapot was busy pouring its contents into four cups.
"How did you two rascals get out of Hogwarts on Sunday afternoon?" grinned old Macnair.
"As well-behaved students," Ares said, also grinning, "we have, of course, asked permission from the headmistress to Disapparate on an urgent personal matter."
"What a shame." The old man looked genuinely disappointed. "I thought you had outwitted McGonagall. Asked permission!" He shook his head. "Tsss ..."
"Nevertheless, no one must know that we are here and why," Ares added. "The Ministry would probably consider what we are doing a subversive act."
"In that case," Tatyana said, rising, "I'll just go out into the garden. The less I know, the better." Any other mother would probably have been horrified to see her son involved in subversive activities, but Tatyana loved her husband's wild nature and knew that her son took after his father. She only cared not to know anything that might be of interest to the Aurors, so as not to be able to give it away.
When he heard subversive act, Walden's face brightened. "This sounds more like my son. What is it about?"
"Let's start with the personal matter. Julian?" Ares gave his friend a demanding glance.
"It's about my grandpa Rodolphus," Julian began, "we've got some evidence that he's still alive. Do you know anything about his whereabouts?"
Old Macnair looked at him sadly. "Rodolphus, yes, I knew him well. But unfortunately, I don't have any good news for you." He sighed. "The last time I saw your grandpa, he was already dead."
Julian swallowed.
"Was that during the Battle of Hogwarts?", Ares now demanded.
Walden nodded. He stared at his teacup for a moment and then said quietly:
"After Voldemort was killed, it all happened very quickly. I myself was pretty banged up, somehow got out of the school building and had to get off the grounds to Disapparate. On the way to the gate I saw the dead lying all around. Your grandfather among them. I know for sure because I remember having thought: At least he's been spared surviving Bellatrix's death!"
"Are you completely sure that he was really dead?" asked Julian insistently. "After all, as everything happened so quickly and there were so many dead lying around ..."
"My boy, I was a hangman. When I say one is dead, he is!"
All the four of them were silent. Julian, who had hoped for a chance to meet his grandfather, was visibly struggling to cope with this final confirmation of his death.
"I'm sorry," old Macnair interrupted the long silence. "I'd have liked to tell you something more hopeful. But you say this is not the only reason why you are here?"
"No, it isn't," said Ares. "We believe that Voldemort used magical techniques that the Aurors have not unravelled to this day ..."
"And you can bet your life on it," his father interjected.
"... against which they therefore have no remedy, and through which he was able to penetrate directly into the souls of people in order to control and manipulate them. These techniques are what we would like to learn more about."
"Why?"
"It's about the Minister for Magic. We consider it possible that she is being controlled by an unknown wizard using Voldemort's techniques. If that's true, we want to find a counter-curse ..."
"Ares, c'mon!" his father cut in. "You don't really believe that this Minister has to be greatly manipulated to get her to pursue her policy, do you? She's doing exactly what she has always wanted to! You wouldn't have to curse her to make her do so, any more than Voldemort would have had to curse me. I was his supporter anyway."
"Why were you?" Julian asked. "I mean, what was so fascinating about it to you?"
"Let's put it this way" – Walden showed his pirate grin again – "it wasn't boring, that time. It was simply compelling, exciting, thrilling! We were determined then to set our stamp on the world!"
As if to illustrate the stamp, old Macnair banged his fist on the table. "And by the way, today at the very latest it's becoming evident that we were quite simply right about this."
At Julian's questioning look, he explained:
"If we had won, there would be no Mudbloods in the wizarding world and as a consequence, no Granger as Minister for Magic, first turning our world into a kindergarten, then selling it out to the Muggles."
"My best friend is also a Mudblood," Julian objected.
"MacAllister, I know, he's all right," said Walden, "Ares told me a lot about him. But he's the exception to the rule. You can recognise such exceptions by the Sorting Hat sending them to Slytherin. How many of them are out there? Maybe a dozen in a hundred years! With all due respect to your friend, one MacAllister does us wizards far less good than one Granger does us harm. The wizarding world could well survive without MacAllister, but it cannot with all that Grangers."
A bang indicated that someone had Apparated in front of the house.
"Ooops?" grumbled Macnair, and stepped to the window. "I know that guy, he's from the Ministry."
"Should we hide?" asked Julian hastily, thinking of Hermione suddenly turning up with the Potters'.
"Nonsense," the old man waved him off, "that's not even an Auror, just some subordinate clown from Magical Law Enforcement. No big deal to tackle."
Walden Macnair opened the door. The subordinate clown, a barely twenty-five-year-old with flabby features and a cheesy skin, had put on the grave official face he had learnt from Percy Weasley, his mentor and first instructor at the Ministry.
"Averell McDonald," he introduced himself, "Department of Magical Law Enforcement of the Ministry of Magic. Am I correct in assuming that you are Mr Walden Macnair?"
"Save your silly questions, you know perfectly well who I am."
The officer cleared his throat forcefully and tried to look a little sterner. "Mr Macnair, I will have to officially instruct you. I think it is therefore in your interest to continue the conversation in your house."
"Five Galleons, please," Macnair replied dryly.
"Excuse me?"
"I am getting so many visits from the Ministry that I've decided to take an entrance fee," Macnair said deadpan.
"Keep your jokes to yourself!" McDonald hated people making fun of the Ministry. "But all right, just as you like! I am here because the term 'Mudblood' has just been uttered in your house. I hereby first ask you if you admit this fact?"
"I'm not admitting anything at all until you tell me how you know."
"The Minister," the official replied, sounding like a talking folder, "by Decree No. 445/17 of 29 September 2017 has put into effect, with effect from today 1 October, a Taboo by which the Ministry will be immediately informed as soon as any of the terms listed here are uttered."
He handed a sheet of parchment over to Walden who unrolled and skimmed it. It was Hermione's carefully numbered list of prohibited expressions, now with 79 items. "You ought to know it, Mr Macnair, after all, it was the front page story in yesterday's Daily Prophet."
"Maybe it was," Macnair replied, "but I generally only use this prophet to wipe my bum with your minister's face."
Something like a blush of anger appeared on McDonald's pale yellow bureaucrat's face.
"Great idea, by the way, this Taboo!" sneered Macnair now. "Could have come from the Dark Lord!"
McDonald glared at him as sternly as he could. Of course, they both knew that this kind of general Taboo had actually first been practised under Voldemort.
"I am asking you again, Mr Macnair: Do you admit that fact?"
"Sure I do," said the old man. "I've just taught my budgie never to say 'Mudblood' in order not to undermine the Ministry's policy."
(In the meantime, in the kitchen, Ares and Julian had red heads from the effort to stifle their laughter).
McDonald cleared his throat disapprovingly. "Be that as it may: Pursuant to Executive Order No. 2/445/17 to Decree No. 445/17 of 29 September 2017, I have to read the following instruction to you."
He unrolled another parchment and read aloud:
"The Ministry is united with the entire wizarding community in the will to fight and prevent all expressions of hatred and misanthropy against non-magically skilled persons as well as any form of discrimination, exclusion, stereotypes, prejudices and clichés against non-magically skilled persons. Since you, Mr Mrs here the name of the person concerned is to be mentioned have undertaken to use, or have tolerated the use in your house or in your presence of one of the expressions that the Ministry has put under Taboo by implementation order No. 1/445/17 to decree No. 445/17 of 29 September 2017, the Ministry sees itself prompted to urgently warn you: The Ministry by no means doubts your civic loyalty and good will to support the struggle against all expressions of hatred and misanthropy against non-magically skilled people ..."
Macnair noisily sniffed back his snot.
"... as well as to any form of discrimination, exclusion, stereotypes, prejudices and clichés against non-magically skilled people. Rather, the Ministry is convinced that you have only used the offending expression inadvertently and unintentionally. The Ministry is appealing to you as a law-abiding citizen ..."
"Khkhkhkhkhkht."
"... and loyal member of the wizarding community to choose your words with great care in the future, avoiding terms that are tabooed by the Ministry, and thus to express your support of the Ministry and the efforts of the wizarding community."
Macnair spat the snot onto the floor. "That's it?"
The official frowned disapprovingly and rolled up the parchment. "That's it."
Macnair slammed the door.
When he came back into the kitchen, he found Ares and Julian lying on the floor, neighing with laughter, and had to laugh, too.
"What," Ares gasped between laughs, "what was that dumbass?" And after another burst of laughter: "Well, Dad, how does it feel to be a law-abiding citizen and a loyal member of the wizarding community?"
"A completely new experience!" the old man replied, shaking with laughter in his turn.
After they had calmed down to some extent, however, Walden said thoughtfully: "Of course it's killingly funny when any Ministry guy is coming here to make a fool of himself. But when you think about it, you stop laughing."
"Why?" asked Ares.
"Well, just imagine, a clown like that doesn't turn up at an old Death Eater like me, who doesn't care, but with some normal citizen, and all the neighbours hear about it. 'Have you heard? There was a Ministry official at the Millers' for instruction. I wouldn't have expected them to be that kind of people. I don't think our Jane should be allowed to play with the Miller children.' From then on, the Millers will memorise the ministry list and think twice about every word they say to verify it isn't on the list. And their neighbours, of course, will do the same. The few who don't let themselves be muzzled are then automatically branded as public enemies. And as this is known, everyone will try not to even think anything that could lead to any forbidden words slipping out. This way, the Ministry turns everyone into a trained monkey. And those who cannot be trained will be so few that there will enough cells for them in Azkaban!"
Old Macnair snorted.
"Disgusting! Above all, this hypocritical mildness! 'We're not punishing anyone, we're just instructing!' As if it wouldn't be a thousand times more humiliating for adult people to be taught and educated by such an ape than to die with their boots on!"
He shook his head and took another sip of tea.
"Where were we? Oh, yes, Granger. Well, again, no one needs to hex her to make her do what she is doing. If someone did, he wasted his time."
"It is only one possibility," Ares admitted. "If it's different, the more we need to know about this kind of magic, for it means we need to be able to control her ourselves."
His father raised his eyes to the ceiling as if to plead for heavenly help.
"Ares! You really think I can name you some Dark wizard right now to teach you how to hex the Minister for Magic?"
He groaned in annoyance.
"Even if I knew someone who could do that and still wasn't in Azkaban – and those sitting there aren't good for too much any more – he couldn't teach you. Mastering this kind of magic takes years of intensive study of Dark Magic, even the Dark Lord needed a long time. This is not the kind of thing you just learn like a little transformation spell. And don't forget: Granger is protected by Aurors trained precisely to defend against this type of curse. They are probably even able to apply them. So if you need an expert, get one of them on your side."
The suggestion was meant to be ironic. Ares and Julian exchanged a quick glance. They had agreed not to mention to Ares' dad that they had Harry Potter on board.
"Come on, boys," continued old Macnair, "what you're up to is neither fish nor fowl! If you're going to risk being sent to Azkaban – and that' what you're doing by trying to hex the Minister – make a clean job of it and kill her! That way at least the risk is worth it!"
"Dad, that's what we considered, but as a group decided not to do," Ares said, although in his mind he agreed with his father. "And this is a kind of action everyone would have to agree to, if it was to be successful."
"Yes," said the old man, "unless one is acting on his own, then he does not need to take into account confidants because he has none. Well, you have to know yourself what you are doing. But I have no better advice to give you."