Of all the "named OCs" in Harry Potter, my favorite is almost certainly Amelia Bones. I think I've made that clear before, but it bears repeating. Death is probably a close second just because I love writing his conversations with Jen.

Disclaimer: Did the Prime Minister in book 6 act helplessly during his talk with Fudge instead of behaving like someone who was used to taking charge, a trait that is practically required when running for the top office in a government? If so, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whomever else she sold the rights to.


Chapter 16
Tense Negotiations

Amelia straightened out the skirt of her Muggle suit and did her best to ignore Fudge's mutterings.

"… don't see why we're waiting. We can just Floo over now. We don't even need an address; it's a dedicated grate. I certainly never waited for an audience with the man…"

That's because you're an uncouth boor whose only concern is how he can line his pockets fastest, she carefully did not say. "You've clearly spent far too much time with Lucius Malfoy, Cornelius."

"Lucius was a valued contributor to my campaign—"

"And he also preferred his delusions to reality," she said over her predecessor's affronted stammering. "Did you treat the Bulgarian Minister like an underling when he arrived for the Quidditch World Cup? Or did you treat him like the head of state he was?"

"But he was a fellow Minister of Magic!"

"Your point?" she demanded in a cold voice. Merlin, she hated dealing with unthinking bigots, and even if Fudge himself were not one, he certainly had kept company with enough of them that it had skewed his own opinions. "Just because the Muggle Minister does not have magic does not mean that he is a fool or a weakling who will just stand back and let us do whatever we want. Especially not when our war results in the deaths of his citizens."

"He was slow enough all the times I talked to him," he bit out.

She definitely did not roll her eyes. "Because he had nothing to say, or because you couldn't be bothered to deal with a 'lowly Muggle' and just breezed in and out before he could get a word in edgewise?"

From his irritated grumblings, the latter was, in fact, exactly what he had done, but before she could say anything else, the froglike portrait of some long-dead Ministry functionary slid back into view. "The Prime Minister of the Muggles will see you know," the painting announced with a distasteful sneer, clearly unhappy with having to deal with not only a Muggle, but one of the few who were cleared to know about the Wizarding World.

Fudge hesitated, so it was instead she who tossed a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace and stepped through the emerald flames into her Muggle counterpart's office. Taking in first the marble fireplace and the mahogany desk, she turned her attention to the grey-haired man reclining behind that desk. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Minister. I am Amelia Bones, the sitting Minister of Magic for Wizarding Britain."

Her forthrightness seemed to surprise the man, but after a moment he smiled and adjusted his glasses slightly. "The pleasure is mine, Madam Minister. I am surprised, though; I thought that other fellow was the Minister…" He trailed off for a moment as Fudge finally joined them. "Yes, him."

"He was, but due to the variety of… conflicts on our side of the world lately, it was determined that a change needed to be made. I thought that Mr. Fudge had kept you abreast of the situation, since that is the entire reason I named him ambassador to your country," she nearly growled, that comment meant more for Fudge than for the Minister, "but from the fact that you had no idea there was a change in office, I presume that was not the case."

The former Minister of Magic puffed up now that both their eyes were on him. "I was going to inform him when there was something worth discussing!"

Amelia just shook her head. Much as Fudge might not have wanted to do his duties, it was a necessity for the two sides of Britain to maintain cordial relations. That had been a general rule since the early nineteenth century, and in fact was a standing law, that the Minister of Magic had to inform the Muggle Minister any time events in the magical world had the potential to spill over into the Muggle world. Not only was it a logical outgrowth of the Statute of Secrecy – by informing the head of the Muggle government of these situations, they had an ally who would have a better idea of just how to keep magic a secret – it was also the best way to avoid the difficulties that could arise when there were two sovereign states dwelling within the same borders. That was doubly true when one considered that Muggleborns were technically considered citizens by both nations as a result of their childhoods spent in nonmagical society.

If Fudge's prejudices had jeopardized Wizarding Britain's rapport with their closest neighbor, she would have his head. Perhaps even literally at this point.

"Very well. To summarize the situation to a truly ludicrous degree, throughout the 1970s our nation was engaged in a civil war with a group that was doing its best to overthrow the government and take control for themselves through a campaign of mass murder and gruesome executions. Nor did he content himself with fighting wizards; several of the attacks supposedly committed by the Irish Republican Army in that decade were, in actuality, raids conducted by the Death Eaters. In 1981, the leader of that group was killed, and the movement dissolved until a year and a half ago when he returned and gathered his troops again."

The Minister nodded understandingly. "It's always best to assume people like that are still alive until you find the body."

"We did find his body." The Muggle Minister looked at her in utter incomprehension, and she gave him a tight smile. "He was most definitively dead then, and as someone who encountered him both in the last war and this one, he is also certainly alive once more."

"How…?"

"That is a question we would dearly like the answer to, as well."

"Ah." Amelia could tell the instant when he put the dots together. "Then the attack on the cricket pitch in June was the work of this terrorist group of yours? And the more recent destruction of a flat in Harringay?"

She frowned. "The first, yes. The second we are still investigating, but right now, it has none of the indications that it was perpetrated by the Death Eaters."

"I see," replied the Minister in a tone of suspicion. "And what about the bombing of the South Bank on Halloween? I hear the Metropolitan Police have been scratching their heads over that one. The witness accounts make no sense, at least not by the normal rules of reality. If magic is involved, however…"

"According to our own intelligence, that attack was not magical in nature," she lied as her mind whirled. This was the first she had heard about any raid on the South Bank. She really wanted to press the other minister for more information on that score, but two things prevented her from doing that. First, she needed to get rid of the man's obvious and not necessarily undeserved doubt regarding their ability to keep their affairs from affecting the Muggle world. Admitting that she had no clue what he was talking about would run counter to that goal. Second, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had contacts within the Metropolitan Police through the Auror Office, and it would be better to get the full story from them directly rather than receiving a sanitized account secondhand.

"We do need to discuss your security situation," Fudge was saying while she thought over the new facts. "Originally, we had placed a highly decorated Auror as your secretary—"

The Minister's face contorted in barely restrained fury. "You snuck one of your wizards into my staff. Am I supposed to believe that you just 'forgot' to inform me of that little fact, or should I worry that more of my people have been compromised?"

"We had unsubstantiated rumor that the Death Eaters were attempting a plot against your life," inserted Amelia smoothly. It even had the benefit of being true, though she was overstating the amount of trust they had had in the information. Just another Order warning that turned out to be worthless. "Because of the identity of the informant, we were unsure how seriously to take this warning, but we felt it best to move swiftly and put one of our best men in place to defend you in case it was a valid threat. Thankfully, nothing came of it in the end."

"Yes, that is good," the Minister replied, looking somewhat mollified by her quick admission. "Since it is no longer an issue, I presume you will be removing your people from my staff?" It was not a question.

A faint blush tinged her cheeks. As embarrassing as it was to admit it about one of her Aurors… "That actually is not an issue. Shacklebolt was dismissed early in his detail."

"Shacklebolt. Shacklebolt." The Minister shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't remember the name."

"He was fired after less than a week as your secretary."

"Oh. Him!" A swift bark of laughter escaped the Muggle. "Yes, now I remember. He was completely incapable of using the computer or the fax machine. He could barely even work the phone! I just thought he was incompetent, but of course he would be a wizard. Would these Death Eaters of yours be as incapable of blending in with normal people as he was?"

"Worse," she answered with a tight-lipped smile.

"In that case, thank you. I feel much more at ease now."

Fudge looked no happier than she felt at the Minister's dismissal of their attempt to keep the man safe, but she let none of that irritation show on her face. "Still, we would like to put one or two witches near you in case you are the victim of an assassination attempt. It was obviously an error disguising Shacklebolt as a secretary"—the man's smile widened a tiny amount again—"but they are all trained to be able to pass as Muggle bodyguards for situations like this." With Shack's mistakes, she needed to make sure the next guards were better at disguising themselves as Muggles, and her mind wandered to the additional qualifications several of the Muggleborns had requested while she was still the director of the DMLE. "The pair I am thinking of specifically are also trained to use firelegs—"

"Do you mean 'firearms', by chance?" the Minister asked in a too-bland voice.

She scowled momentarily before wiping the expression off her face. "Yes, firearms. My apologies, but it has been a very long week. They are fully certified in those, so they would be able to maintain their roles should an attack that is not magical in nature occur."

"I will give it some thought," he agreed after a second's consideration. "If you will have someone forward me their dossiers, I would be happy to look over them." The Minister rolled a pen beneath his fingers for a moment before he stood. Amelia and Fudge rose, as well, and she shook his hand when he reached out. "Once again, Madam Minister, it has truly been a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I hope we will be able to speak again under better circumstances. We are both busy people, however, and I am sure you have a number of tasks you need to work through just as I do. I do appreciate that you have taken this time out of your schedule to clear up these issues."

As much as being dismissed out of hand was galling, he was correct in that she still had a great deal of work to do. That he was right did not salve her pique. "I appreciate your generosity, as well. We intend to resolve this matter without it disrupting the lives of your citizens any more than absolutely necessary." Leading Fudge back towards the fireplace, she walked through the flames that suddenly billowed up and into her office once again.

"I never did like that man," Fudge ranted the instant he had crossed the threshold behind her. "No respect, none at all. He doesn't even have magic, but he acts like he—"

"Fudge. Shut. Up." Amelia dropped into her chair and rubbed her temples wearily. "Tell me, when I named you as ambassador to the Muggle Ministry, did you think I was tossing you a random title because I like you? Because I wanted to curry your favor? If I give you a job to do, I want you to do that bloody job. I don't want you to make me look like an utter fool because of your incompetence."

"Now see here," the portly man demanded, "I was the sitting Minister for five years, and not once did I have to cater to the blasted Muggles!"

"What you did or did not do during your tenure is absolutely irrelevant."

"Is it? We both know that as soon as this war is over, the Wizengamot will choose a new Minister." His grin was nasty and arrogant. "Who do you think they will choose? You, who keeps stepping on their toes, or me, who knows how to play the game? I'd be nicer if I were you."

"Did you know that your security detail has stopped five people who tried to kill you?" she asked with a sharp smile all her own. He blinked at the apparent non sequitur. "Ironically, three of them wanted you dead because of your love of gold and support for those who freely give it while another two were blood purists who thought your position as ambassador meant you had betrayed their ideals. That security detail is only there because you are supposed to smooth our relationship with the Muggle Ministry."

Now he seemed to get it. His face was as pale as porcelain. "Amelia, surely you wouldn't…"

"If you don't do the tasks required of you, then you are not fit for that position. If you no longer have that position, you no longer deserve the benefits that come with it." She looked away from him at her work, pulling a quill and ink bottle closer. Yes, there had been one attempt to seriously injure or kill Fudge, and it had been due to arrangements Malfoy had convinced Fudge to arrange. That was the lone attack, though, and no matter how much she personally and even professionally disliked her former superior, she would not take away his only protection and let him die if she thought he was truly in danger. That kind of callousness went against everything she believed in.

Fudge, in her position, would do just that, and it was for that reason that he believed her threat.

"Keep the Muggle Minister abreast of how the investigation into the attack on that flat is going, would you?" she directed him. "And if you see Rufus, tell him I need to speak with him within the hour."

The former Minister left in a huff, allowing her to breathe easy once more. If this was what being the Minister of Magic required even when the country was not in a state of war, she was not sure she wanted to keep the job once the Death Eaters had been dealt with.


What could be so important that she called me back on a Monday afternoon?, Jen wondered as she tore through space on her way to Grimmauld Place. This was one of her busiest days, Defense for third period and Potions at fifth after a morning of Charms and Runes. The only time she had in which to leave the castle was those ninety minutes of fourth period, but several of those she had needed to spend getting her friends to leave her be without questioning what she was doing. Luna was becoming more and more suspect of anything she tried to excuse by calling it 'House business'.

Still, Cissy was not one to panic about minor quibbles, and the letter Jen had received that morning demanding she return to take care of a major problem had definitely carried undertones of panic.

She arrived within the back garden of the London townhouse, and her connection to the wards revealed the immediate source of that distress. Cissy sat stiffly in a chair in the sitting room, her posture the only sign of the emotions undoubtedly roaring within her; in comparison, Rita was positively indolent on the sofa. What news had her enslaved reporter brought with her this time?

Eschewing the floor, she instead floated quickly through the house until reaching the sitting room door. "This had better be good," she groused while sitting herself in an empty chair.

Rita wilted at her tone while Cissy gave her a frown. "It is anything but good. Tell her where you're working now, Rita."

"Er… Nowhere, Mistress. They fired me early this morning."

"Fired you?" Rita was the Daily Prophet's preeminent muck-raker; why would they fire her? Then again, now that Jen thought about it, she had seen fewer and fewer articles with Rita's name on them over the last several months. "Why?"

"The owner said it's because I'm sick and need to talk to the Mind Healers, but I think it's really because he wants the other reporters to steal my stories and he hates that I'm outsmarting them."

"And how are they trying to steal your stories?" prompted Cissy.

Rita glanced around before leaning closer toward them. "Patrick has been following me when I go talk to my sources, and I've had to undo the Listening Charms Kelsey keeps casting on my wall. But Christopher is the worst. I don't know how many of his eyes I've had to crush to stop him from watching me."

A slow blink, then she glanced over at her aunt. Cissy sat impassively, as if this all made perfect sense to her. "His eyes? Why are you crushing his eyes?"

"Because he keeps leaving them on my things," the reporter explained patiently. "And then he acts like he doesn't know what I'm talking about when I confront him about it. But I know it's him. I can see the eyes he has growing on his insides."

"Thank you, Rita. Jen, we need to talk outside."

"What in the Baron's name was that about?" Jen demanded once she had closed the door and thrown a silencing charm over it to keep the clearly mad woman from eavesdropping.

"I did some research on the Katoikidio Metatropi curse while we were waiting for you to arrive. It wasn't in the book you learned the spell from, but another book on enslavement magics explained what the problem is." Cissy shook her head. "That curse doesn't actually change the victim's personality or allegiances. It merely suppresses them. They are still there, and the more the victim is forced to do things she would not normally do, the more mental trauma is inflicted as the original personality and the curse come into conflict."

She grimaced. "Mental trauma?"

"Emotional instability. Hallucinations. Paranoid delusions." The piebald witch's smile was utterly without humor. "The damage is progressive and irreversible. Depending on what the person under the curse is forced to do, she goes completely insane in twelve to eighteen months."

"She's been under it since last September," Jen muttered. "Right in the middle of that timespan."

Cissy nodded. "In hindsight, her mind has been failing for several months. Her isolation from her colleagues is likely the only reason it has gone unnoticed until recently. Now, though? Something has to be done. The people who have been caught using these magics did so because their servants inevitably revealed enough information for law enforcement to determine who ensorcelled them."

"And we can't just erase her memory. The reason I chose that spell was so that no one could memory charm her to make her forget my order not to reveal my identity."

What had to be done was obvious to her and Cissy both. She had chosen to enslave Rita in order to turn the professional gossip-monger into an asset, but with this revelation, it was clear that the reporter had instead just been a liability of a different kind. "Did she give us any useful information while she was functional?" she asked. "You were her primary contact all this time."

"Nothing immediately actionable, but yes, she did find out a number of secrets we might profit from in the future. Some bad deals Kennewick has made, the true identity of Bradley's son, Callahan's criminal ties. There were also several rumors I can hire other people to follow up on." Her aunt smiled sadly. "For all that she is a problem for us now, she has been useful. I would even be open to keeping her close despite her madness did that not pose a risk to you."

Unfortunately, that still left the problem of how to rid themselves of Rita. She could not just disappear; if her psychosis had been as obvious as she feared it was, the mystery that left behind would further concern the Prophet staff. Leaving her body somewhere to be found would cause MLEP to become involved, and even if it was staged as a mugging or home invasion gone wrong, there was always the possibility that some clue would be found. Illness? The obvious signs could be faked, but anything that would kill an otherwise healthy woman that quickly would get the Healers in a frenzy, and Jen did not know enough medicine to dupe them.

Then again, maybe the answer was right in front of her.

Jen raised a hand and summoned a glass vial from deeper inside the house. Squeezing water from the air, she focused on what she could transfigure. Anything magical was beyond her abilities, but if she chose something mundane… She nodded and tapped the vial to transform the water into a white powder. Was this enough to work? After a moment's thought, she vanished the crystals, expanded the inside of the vial, and repeated her previous steps. Better to be sure.

Opening the door, she smiled at her soon-to-be ex-servant. "I agree with you that the other reporters were trying to spy on you, but I don't think it was for your stories." Rita looked at her quizzically. "I think they figured out you were working for someone and wanted to find out who."

"That's not possible! I kept our relationship a secret!"

"I know you did," she answered in a soothing voice, "but you spent all your time around people whose job is finding out people's secrets. We both should have known that someone was going to discover the truth sooner or later. That's my mistake just as much as it is yours. Thankfully, we have a solution to that problem. We need to make you disappear.

"In this vial is a derivative of Draught of Living Death. Tonight, I need you to write a suicide note, then dissolve this powder in water and drink all of it. When they find you, they will believe you to be dead and will soon stop investigating. Aunt Cissy and I will administer the antidote later, and since everybody will think you gone, you will be able to ferret out secrets with impunity."

Rita smiled as Jen handed over the vial she had filled with cyanide. With the Subservience Curse in full effect, she probably could have ordered the older witch to kill herself, but there was the slim possibility that if forced into that position, Rita's suppressed personality would fight hard enough to hint at the truth, which would defeat the entire point of the deception.

Besides, she was already murdering the woman. There was no reason to scare her in the process.

"Go home and start on the arrangements," Cissy ordered. "Anyone who investigates the matter should walk away without any doubts about what happened."

They watched Rita exit the Floo, and only then did Cissy step close enough to pull Jen into a hug. "That was masterfully done. But are you sure that poison will work?"

"With how much I gave her? Absolutely."

"Very well. It is distasteful, but this was necessary."


END OF A LEGACY

It is with great sorrow that we here at the Daily Prophet must announce the passing of one of our own. Rita Skeeter, age 45, was found dead in her Lincolnshire home yesterday afternoon. The Magical Law Enforcement Patrol has begun their preliminary investigation, but according to one source this reporter spoke to, the manner of death will almost certainly be ruled a suicide. A letter was found on Skeeter's bedside table wherein she expressed her regrets at the mistakes she felt she had made in her life and her fears that she had ruined her professional and personal relationships, and an empty vial that had presumably contained poison was found nearby.

Rita is survived by her mother, Viola Skeeter, and her younger sister, Lucia Skeeter-Ball. We offer her family our condolences. She will be missed.


The first scene is partly a reaction to what I felt was the weakest chapter in the entire series, the first chapter in book 6. Not only did it serve to spout off her personal philosophy that government by its very nature is totally incompetent at best and entirely corrupt and malfeasant at worst (a stance that I disagree with greatly, which should be obvious to anyone who's been paying attention to the scenes with Amelia or the DMLE), it also tried to make it look like the non-magical world was inherently inferior to its magical cousin. I say tried because when you have a canon population of all of 3,000 people that spent ten years in a state of civil war over whether an entire class of people should be slaughtered or enslaved because of who their parents are, that bar is set pretty damn low.

Silently Watches out.