Previously: Kali Black got her first taste of wizarding London. She, Remus Lupin, and Freyja Morrigan met with Professor McGonagall at the Leaky Cauldron, where Remus and Kali passed their respective job and student interviews with flying colours. Kali kept her hopes up despite the nasty stares and a minor kidnapping.

Chapter Three:

Perverted Justice

The rain clouds had cleared by morning. Streaks of sunlight peeked over the rooftops and glittered within puddles as Freyja walked down the street, cursing the cobblestones every time her heels caught in the cracks.

She could count on one hand the number of times she had visited wizarding London, and she hadn't enjoyed any of them. The last had been in 1941, when hastily built watchtowers had dotted the streets, each manned by bored Aurors tasked with vanishing the Muggle bombs that came too near to the wizarding settlement. The sentry posts were gone now, but little else had changed over the past fifty-two years. Truth be told, little had changed here in centuries.

Stepping through these streets felt like stepping back in time, only the sanitation system and general cleanliness were much improved. The breeze smelled of nothing but rain and summer. In that at least, wizarding London surpassed Muggle London.

Freyja turned a corner, her pace slow, yet people darted from her path like rabbits faced with oncoming traffic. "Core tight, shoulders down, neck long," her mother used to say over and over during posture lessons. "This world is made of chaos. Confidence is how you rule it."

A child ran past, laughing and weaving through the crowd. "I'm Sirius Black," he shouted. "You can't catch me."

Two other boys chased him, brandishing twigs and yelling nonsense. One stopped his butchery of Latin long enough to yell, "Stop in the name of the law." He threw his stick over his shoulder and tackled the pretend convict. They rolled, pushing and pulling for the upper hand. Passersby spared them a glance and walked around them.

Chaos hadn't a care for confidence. It was and would remain because the law of nature would not bend to the will of woman or man.

"We can't let her go to Hogwarts," Remus had said last night after Kali had fallen asleep. "It'll be ten times worse there."

"She won't leave this alone, Remus," said Freyja, trailing her fingers through the dust on the bed's headboard and watching Remus pace holes through the carpet. "Besides, the news will reach the rest of the world soon enough, at which point talk will follow her regardless of where she is."

"Not if she changes her surname."

"She won't do that." Kali had inherited too much of her father's stubbornness. "She won't live in the shadow of her father's deeds. You raised her to have a stronger backbone than that." She poured him another glass of Firewhisky. "You ought to be proud."

Remus had continued to mutter and had knocked back over half of the bottle of Firewhisky before stalking from her room. That he had been sober enough to Apparate himself and Kali to the Lake House this morning was one of the few advantages of lycanthropy: an enviable metabolism. He and Kali would spend the day cleaning up the big house and making it liveable after years of disuse.

Freyja had other business to attend to.

The British Ministry of Magic was a sprawling underground building, stretching from Whitehall to Charing Cross Road and burrowing deep beneath the surface. There were several entry points, but Freyja favoured the one behind Gringotts.

A narrow alley next to the bank led to a small garden where marble statues waved as you passed. The walkway wound around trees and shrubs toward a sizeable green door framed by Roman columns and bordered by flowerbeds in which lived a family of Knarls. Two Aurors stood guard and pushed the double door open as Freyja approached and closed it when she stepped into a short, empty hallway, at the end of which sat a lift with delicate gold bars like a giant birdcage.

"Please state your name and business," chimed the lift when she stepped in.

"Freyja Morrigan. I have an appointment with Cornelius Fudge."

The lift doors clanked shut, and Freyja started the slow descent toward the Minister's office—the only place at which this lift stopped. The gate opened onto another short corridor at the end of which was a replica of the door on street level

A buxom young woman with glossy brown curls pinned on top of her head sat at a cluttered desk next to the door. She rose from her seat and smiled, flaunting a single dimpled cheek.

"You're right on time, Madam Morrigan. The Minister is waiting for you." With a flick of her wand, the door swung open, and she waved Freyja through.

The ministerial office was a heptagonal room with a domed ceiling and a large oculus window, which currently showed a scenic beach on a sunny day. Freyja could almost hear the waves crashing against the shore. Very old, rather ugly portraits took up the rest of the wall space; filing cabinets, armoires, and bookshelves hid some of them. The paintings overlooked a heavy wooden desk that could comfortably seat a giant and a plush, high-backed chair that was equally as large. Two other, far smaller chairs sat in front of the desk.

"Madam Morrigan." Minister Fudge's suit matched the purple upholstery of his seat. "It's a pleasure seeing you again."

She glided across the room, footsteps muffled by the purple rug. She did not take the Minister's proffered hand, but she did return the pleasantry as she sat in one of the proposed chairs. "It's been too long."

Fudge's gaze shifted.

The last time they had seen each other had been over two years ago at her annual Yule Ball, during which she had rescued him from a debate he had been having with Kali. Kali was well-versed in the topic of lycanthropy. Minister Fudge was not. Out of his depth and floundering, his flailing arguments had drawn a crowd. It had not been his most brilliant moment, not that Freyja had witnessed many of those from him. He had declined both following invitations to the party.

"Thank you for fitting me in on such short notice," said Freyja, crossing her legs and folding her hands on her lap.

Fudge's smile wavered at the edges. "It didn't sound like you were giving me much choice." He shifted in his seat, cleared his throat, and added, "How is your granddaughter?"

"Thriving."

He nodded and rocked in his chair as he scooted forward to rest his elbows on his desk. "I hear she'll be attending Hogwarts this year."

It had taken him less than twenty-four hours to find out that Kali's application had been accepted. "Good news travels fast." She kept her tone detached. Fudge would give away his hand with his bumbling. He always did.

"That it does." He chuckled. "Bit of an odd time to have her change schools, though. May I ask, why now?"

He kept his hands steady on the desk and didn't duck his gaze, but a bead of sweat pearled on his forehead.

Freyja smiled. "Of course, you may, but first, let me say how attractive your receptionist is and how much I look forward to seeing your wife again."

Fudge's eyes widened, and a few of the portraits sniggered.

"Perhaps it would be best if we got straight down to business," he said, the jovial tone so evidently forced that it made his voice squeak.

"Perhaps," she agreed. "How fairs the Ministry's search for Sirius Black?"

Fudge tutted and fidgeted, worrying a loose thread on his sleeve. "You know I can't disclose that information, Madam Morrigan."

Sweat dripped from the little man, making Freyja wonder how long it would take for him to fill a bathtub. "You went to the British Muggle Prime Minister and asked for his help, so I take it that it isn't going well.

With a stiff jaw, his lips barely moving, Fudge said, "The Auror Division has gathered every resource at its disposal and has maximised its efforts to apprehend the prisoner and return him to Azkaban."

An unladylike scoff escaped her. A shudder must be running up her mother's spine. "Oh, I noticed what kind of effort the Auror Division is putting into this case—breaking into homes before the crack of dawn and injuring little girls."

Fudge squawked. The sound bounced off the domed ceiling like the cry of a startled bird falling from its perch. "They didn't intend to harm your granddaughter, and they issued a formal apology for their actions."

"Yes, they were very quick to apologise after Mr Lupin threatened to report the incident." Her gaze flicked to the crumpled newspapers overflowing from the waste bin. "You wouldn't do well with another media scandal on your plate right now, would you, Minister?"

Fudge pressed his lips into a thin line and dropped his gaze to his laced fingers. "What can I do for you, Madam Morrigan?"

She relaxed into her chair, lounging in it as one would a throne. "Once Sirius Black is captured, I would like for the Ministry to hold a trial for him."

His gaze snapped up to meet hers. "What on Earth for?"

"Due process." No amount of commiseration was sufficient for a nation whose leader could not understand that concept. "No matter how guilty a suspect may seem, they have the right to a fair trial. Sirius Black was denied that right twelve years ago. That is an error you are going to remedy."

His mouth fell open as though she'd just informed him that she expected him to dance naked in the streets of wizarding London. "I can't do that."

"Need I define 'due process' for you, Minister? You don't have a choice in the matter."

"Do you not realise what kind of precedent this would set?" He wrapped the loose thread around his chubby finger, tighter and tighter until the digit turned white.

She raised her brows. "Are you saying that Sirius Black is not the only inmate in Azkaban who never received a trial?"

"No," he blurted.

One must learn to choose which battles to fight and which to leave for another day. Freyja watched Fudge through narrowed eyes and said, "In that case, it shouldn't be a problem."

He shook his head. "The press would never let me live it down."

"The press will eat what you feed it," she snapped. "Frame the story to make yourself out to be the hero if you must. Tell them that you are righting old wrongs, giving convicts who may be innocent a second chance. I don't care how, but you will get it done."

Fudge's chin trembled as he flinched away from her glare. "I can't."

Freyja rose to her feet. Fudge did his best to straighten his spine and stiffen his shaking chin, but he did not follow her lead. He had made that mistake once before. It wasn't easy to seem menacing and superior when you had to crane your neck to look your adversary in the eye.

"I am someone you want on your side, Minister." She straightened her coat and checked her reflection from afar in the small mirror next to one of the filing cabinets. "You will make all the necessary arrangements to ensure that once Sirius is captured, he gets a fair trial. After you have done that, I will help you find him."

"Are you hiding him?" A hint of backbone snuck into his tone. Freyja might have been impressed if it indicated a strength of character and not a desperate search for an easy way out of this mess.

"No," she said, vowing that if any Aurors set foot in her home uninvited again, they would not be met by Remus's admirable restraint. "But as I was able to repeatedly track down Gellert Grindelwald, Sirius Black oughtn't to pose much of a challenge."

Mentioning Grindelwald was no offhanded remark. While Freyja had been heavily involved in that war, Fudge had been only a child, not even of age to attend Hogwarts by the time Grindelwald was finally stopped.

When Fudge looked sufficiently cowed, Freyja spun on her heels. "I will visit you in a couple of weeks to check on your progress."

The door swung open with the barest mental push, and the receptionist jumped to her feet. "Madam, is everything all right?"

Freyja nodded, and then because she felt spiteful, she stopped in front of the girl's desk and said, just loud enough for Fudge to hear, "How would you feel about a change of vocation? I own a string of businesses, mainly hotels. If you would like a more lucrative and fulfilling career with an employer who does not attempt to look down your shirt every time you bend over, I would be happy to arrange an interview."

The girl gaped but took the card that Freyja offered and clutched it between both hands.

Freyja did not glance back at Fudge, but she was forced to stop three-quarters of the way to the lift when one of the many doors lining the corridor burst open.

The man who walked through fell back a step, a smile gracing and then disappearing from his mouth. "Freyja?"

His beard and hair hid the top half of his magenta robes and most of his wrinkled face, bringing out his eyes—the brightest blue Freyja had ever seen. "Albus."

He blinked and replaced his surprise with a smile that grated against Freyja's spine. "I was pleased to see that your granddaughter has applied to Hogwarts."

Freyja hummed.

The problem with Albus Dumbledore was that, unlike Fudge, everything that he had, he had earned—every title and praise; every award and commendation. Lies and falsities seldom worked on him, nor did threats and manipulations, and Freyja was well past the age of enjoying such a challenge.

With a longing glance at the lift, which Albus so discreetly blocked, Freyja sighed and gave him her full attention. "I imagine that given the current state affairs, you'll appreciate having her and Mr Lupin within your sphere of influence," she said.

His smile did not waver, although she liked to think that it became strained around the edges.

The greatest downfall of powerful men was that they underestimated the people around them all the while overestimating themselves. Albus Dumbledore was nothing if not a powerful man, but he was unlike most others. Even after so many years knowing him, Freyja still could not tell if his benignity was authentic or a well-crafted facade. Experience dictated that it be the latter, but evidence contradicted that assumption while simultaneously contradicting itself. Albus Dumbledore was an enigma, and that was disconcerting.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," he said as though not understanding was a lovely surprise.

"I doubt that," she said, trying to keep any hint of harshness from her tone. Emotions were dangerous. Her mother had taught her that early on. They gave away thoughts and intentions that were of more use if kept secret. But Albus Dumbledore's serene smile and crinkled eyes set her nerves alight. "You cannot claim to be as intelligent as you do, Albus, and then act so dim-witted."

She shoved past him.

A letter from her mother would no doubt arrive within the next few days, with a note on rudeness cleverly hidden beneath the pleasant ramblings of a woman to whom impoliteness sat among the highest of offences. How Lilith Morrigan would discover her daughter's indiscretion, Freyja could not say, but Lilith had a unique talent for knowing when people were doing something they shouldn't.

Freyja turned as she stepped into the lift and spied Albus entering the Minister's office, no doubt for the same reason she had: to discuss the matter of Sirius Black. The closing grate ate her sigh, but the beginning of a headache thudding against her temples would not be drowned out.

If Albus Dumbledore got involved, he would complicate things. He had a skill for getting in the way and not doing as he was told.

A/N: Thanks for reading and a huge thank you to everyone who has favourited, followed, and/or reviewed!

On a final note: Happy New Year's Eve!