Harry Potter and the Veil of Time
Chapter Thirteen: Trouble at the Ministry
By Cybergades
Something was wrong at the Ministry of Magic.
Percy Weasley had realized it early on, although he hadn't had the nerve to say anything to anyone. It had started when his boss, Mr. Crouch, had stopped coming into the office entirely, corresponding with Percy entirely through owl post. That was a bit strange, he had thought, but it also meant that a great deal of responsibility was being given to him, and if he could carry out the wishes of his superior, it could only mean good things for his Ministry career. You always have to put yourself in a position where good things can happen to you, he often told himself. But that had only been the beginning of it.
Percy brushed the wrinkles out of his coat as a chill London wind whipped down Whitehall, blowing the hats off a few heads and upsetting a handful of birds still perched sleepily on the streetlights. Percy shivered only slightly, stuffing his hands deeper into the sleeves of his robes as he strode purposefully towards the phone booth that would grant him access to the Ministry. Sliding the door closed behind him, he gave one last look at the Muggles walking up and down the street before he nonchalantly punched '62442' into the phone, jerking slightly as the booth began descending into the ground.
The Atrium of the Ministry was bustling with the morning foot-traffic of dozens of wizards and witches arriving from their homes. The fireplaces of the Floo network flared regularly as they deposited their passengers onto the slick-looking black tiles of the Ministry, while outside the subterranean windows, the magically-displayed sky was grey and tumultuous.
"More personnel interviews today, Percy," a voice piped up from behind the scribe. Percy turned around to see another of the clerks from Crouch's department, a small moon-faced man named Marnaeus Vega.
"Morning, Marny," Percy responded. "Personnel interviews, eh? For that Prophet fluff piece?"
"That's the one," Marnaeus replied, bobbing his head up and down. "Don't know why that Skeeter woman needs to be so thorough about everything. You think she'd just get some talking points from Fudge and be on her way. It's not like she's ever been interested in the truth before."
Percy shrugged. "As long it doesn't waste too much time, I suppose there's no harm in it."
Still, Rita Skeeter had been in and out of the Ministry for a few days now, calling Ministry employees one by one to Cornelius Fudge's department, and she could be seen at all hours, murmuring conspiratorially with the portly Minister. Percy couldn't place his finger on it, but he was sure…
Something was wrong at the Ministry of Magic.
To Harry's amazement and good fortune, Artemius appeared to be either playing it close to the vest, or had a more apt understanding of the situation than he had originally thought, because the man neglected to confront Harry the following day, or to do more than lurk around the Great Hall scowling at students and teachers alike. Harry thought that Artemius must have known that Dumbledore would never allow him to be taken on mere accusation, and the outcry that would arise if the Unspeakable utilized his authority anyway would probably generate far too much negative attention to be worth it. So Harry counted himself lucky, and watched his step for the next several days. Because of this, he was unable to get Hermione or Ron to the Room of Requirement, and so his idle thoughts grew increasingly preoccupied with visions of Yggdrasil. Not so preoccupied, however, that he didn't notice the two of them making eyes at one another, or talking loudly about the approaching Yule Ball. It looked like they might be able to get an early start on the romance Harry knew lay in store for them.
Where once the halls of Hogwarts would slowly empty out as Christmas time drew nearer and nearer, now they remained packed with throngs of students, all staying at the boarding school for the holiday season to participate in the Yule ball. Harry's mind, however, was far from thoughts of the dance. He was focused on when he would be able to return through the Stargate to Yggdrasil, to get Hermione to help him decipher its secrets. And he was concerned with how he was spending his time here, at Hogwarts. He was slacking his way through classes he had already passed, while Voldemort continued to bide his time. He had made up his mind that he was going to stick around for the Triwizard Tournament, in order to save Cedric Diggory and potentially cripple Voldemort's growing power, but after that he couldn't think of a reason to come back to Hogwarts for his fifth year. Truancy on that scale would probably put the Ministry after him, especially since his plans called for quite a bit of underage magic, but Harry didn't seem prone to making friends at the Ministry of Magic at any rate. In his wandering thoughts he found himself considering the parts of the wizarding world he had never seen, secret vestiges of power scattered and dissembled. Harry knew that if he could unite the power and resources of even a fraction of the wizarding community, combined with the vaults of power on Yggdrasil, there should be a fighting chance to fend off the threats Merlin warned him of.
To that end, Harry found himself considering Hogwarts' foreign guests much more closely than he had during his first fourth year. Viktor Krum, in particular, seemed like he could be a powerful potential ally. But how would he be able to break through the stern Seeker's hard exterior?
In the midst of one such reverie, Harry found himself wandering the snow-laced courtyards of Hogwarts, scuffing up great tracks of snow with his feet as he trudged towards a class he was growing increasingly late to. He rounded a corner, hopping over a low stone wall to skirt the pathway a bit, but was stopped cold by a flash of orange passing before his eyes. Looking up, he saw Ginny Weasley standing alone in the snow, her own progress towards whatever class she was late to stopped by their sudden encounter.
"Um…hi, Harry," she said in a soft voice.
"Hi, Ginny," Harry blurted out, aware of the growing warmth in his cheeks.
How could he have been so stupid? He had been so consumed with trying to save Ginny's life, along with everyone else's, he had failed to fully realize that she was right here, alive under his nose all this time. With a sudden rush of determination, Harry determined to set something right. It might not save any lives, but…
"Ginny, if you're not in a hurry-"
"No," Ginny replied, too quickly. "What's up?"
"Well, I was, uh…I was wondering if you'd like to go to the Yule Ball with me."
There was a moment, however brief, when Harry felt he had certainly screwed something up, had ruined his potential future with one hasty question. But then he noticed the soft pink flush spreading across Ginny's face, and saw the corners of her mouth tremble as she struggled not to overdo her excitement.
"S-sure," she stammered. "I'd like that, Harry."
"Great!" Harry said with a broad smile. "You can borrow Ron's dress robes, if you like."
Ginny paused for a moment, then burst into a fit of giggles as she remembered Ron's absurd-looking dress robes Mrs. Weasley had packed for him at the start of the year.
"I promise I won't do that to you," she said, but then her face fell. "Oh! I was already late! I'd better go!"
"Yeah, I'm probably going to catch hell, too," Harry said, reaching out and touching her shoulder gently. "I'll see you later, yeah?"
Ginny nodded, then dashed away, her robes billowing behind her in the winter wind. Harry watched her go, in no hurry, hoping that he was the cause of the lightness in her step. She turned back at the entrance to Hogwarts, catching him watching her go, and offered a small wave of her gloved hand. Harry smiled sheepishly, returning the wave before moving off towards his class. He had almost forgotten how warm she made him feel, how he could share anything with her, how he would do anything for her...and then inspiration was upon him, like a flash. Smiling with new purpose, he entered the castle, but turned down a different hallway, away from his class. There would be plenty of other classes he could go to, he reasoned. He needed to take care of this soon.
Percy Weasley was slowly being entombed in a mountain of paperwork thrust onto his desk from one department or another. He eyed his ceiling nervously, well aware of stories of malfunctioning environmental magic causing a downpour on some poor wizard's desk and reducing six months' worth of forms and paperwork to a pulpy slush. He was the only one still working in Crouch's office, the other scribes and assistants off having lunch or on break, and so he had the office entirely to himself, with only the rhythmic scratching of his quill and the unobtrusive tik-tik-tik of a clock in the corner to keep him company. Which was, of course, just the way he liked it. Workplace socialization, he reasoned, was responsible for the loss of countless productive hours, even in an institution as disciplined and well-oiled as the Ministry of Magic. Percy Weasley would be the cleanest cog in the machine, and hopefully others would learn from his example, or, he hoped, the ones that kept the machine running would notice his pristine performance, and reward him accordingly.
"Still working, Percy?" Marnaeus' voice cut through the still air, causing Percy's quill-hand to jump several inches, leaving a long unsightly line on the quill. Sighing, he produced his wand.
"Yes, Marny, what is it?" Percy said in a forced voice, silently effacing the awkward blemish on his paper with a wave of his wand.
"Well, I've just been sent down from Cornelius Fudge's office, and I've been told to send you up for your personnel interview."
"They're even interviewing the assistants and scribes? " Percy asked, somewhat incredulous. Marnaeus Vega only nodded dumbly, a curious smile on his face. "How are we ever supposed to get anything done around here if we're constantly mugging for the presses?"
"It'll only take a few moments, Percy, nothing to it," Marnaeus said cheerfully. Percy raised an eyebrow, looking at the short man sidelong as he deposited his quill in the inkpot on his desk.
"What's gotten into you, Marny? Feeling alright?"
"Never better!" Marnaeus exclaimed gleefully. "Oh, that Rita Skeeter is really some woman, Percy. I wonder what she could ever see in a man like me…"
"Nothing, I'd wager," Percy said drily. Rising from his desk, he pointed his wand to the coat rack in the corner, which obediently sent his coat soaring through the air. "Later, Marny."
"Oh, you'll see, Percy!" Marnaeus called after the young Weasley. "You'll change your tune! It's wonderful!"
A wonderful time-wasting interview, eh? Percy pursed his lips, shaking his head to himself as he made his way towards the Minister's office. Ever more, he was certain of it.
Something was wrong at the Ministry of Magic.
After setting his plan in motion, Harry practically sleepwalked through the rest of the day, his mind completely dominated by what he had planned for later in the evening. Unfortunately, that meant bad things for Harry, as Snape verbally berated him all through a double Potions class. Still, it was with an excited heart and crossed fingers that Harry made his way towards the Gryffindor Common Room that evening. Even as he approached, he could hear the commotion within, and the Fat Lady looked at him almost apologetically.
"I wouldn't go in there, if I were you," she said.
"I'll be alright," Harry said, giving her the password and stepping through the porthole. He ducked immediately upon entering, however, as a shoe was flung viciously at the rapidly retreating form of Ron Weasley, who pushed quickly past Harry in a mad dash for the door.
"Make a run for it, mate!" Ron said over his shoulder. "She's gone completely mental!"
"OF ALL THE NERVE!" Hermione shouted from the center of the Common Room, which looked to be deserted except for her and Harry as Ron's footsteps retreated down the hallway. The other Gryffindors appeared to have wisely retreated to their rooms or to the Great Hall for dinner.
"What's up, Hermione?" Harry asked, looking concerned. She was standing with one shoe still in her hand, poised to fling it at the first Ron Weasley that crossed her path. "You feeling alright?"
"Do you know what he did?" Hermione spat, pacing back and forth as she fumed. "Did you have anything to do with this?"
Harry shook his head. "No, what happened?" he lied.
"Ron got Dobby to come in here and ask me to the Yule Ball for him. He even dressed him up like a Christmas elf and had him sing some stupid song."
"Sounds adorable," Harry said with a shrug. Everything was going perfectly.
"Adorable? He convinced the poor thing to debase himself like a performing animal, and to top it off he didn't actually have the guts to ask me to the ball himself? It's pathetic, it's terrible, it's…" She dropped the shoe, but continued pacing, clenching and unclenching her fists as she searched for more terrible things to call Ron.
"Hey, I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it," Harry said. This part was delicate; he had to make an effort towards reconciliation, but he couldn't overdo it or everything would be ruined.
"Didn't mean anything by it?" Hermione said. "So he just asked me to the Yule Ball on a lark, did he?"
"That's not what I meant!" Harry protested. Brilliant! He hadn't even meant to be misinterpreted like that.
"Whatever," Hermione said, tossing her head contemptuously. "I'm going to the library for a while. If Ron comes crawling back and wants to apologize, tell him that I'm literally anywhere else."
As she stormed off, Harry felt a legitimate pang of guilt run through him. It was cast aside momentarily, however, when Dobby appeared in the Common Room with the distinctive –snap- of House Elf magic.
"Did Dobby do a good thing, Harry Potter?" Dobby asked, wringing an elbow-length glove he was carrying in his hands. Judging from the stretched fabric of the glove, Harry reasoned that he had been wearing it as a hat.
"You were perfect, Dobby," Harry said, patting the diminutive house elf on the head. Dobby's massive eyes lit up, but he still seemed unsure.
"But Miss Granger is so mad at Ronald now," Dobby whispered. "This was a rather cruel joke, Harry Potter."
"They'll forgive each other," Harry said. "But in the meantime, this is exactly what needs to happen, Dobby. I promise someday I'll explain everything you're helping to accomplish right now."
"Oh, that wouldn't be necessary, Harry Potter," Dobby said cheerfully. "Dobby is happy to help."
"Thank you, Dobby," Harry said. At that moment, Hermione would be storming into the library to try and take her mind off this latest insensitive exploitation of the house elf population. And Harry knew that someone would be watching her, as he had been for some time. If Viktor Krum was any sort of intelligent, he would recognize this as the perfect chance to make his move. In her anger, Hermione would realize that taking Ron's sports hero to the Yule Ball would make the perfect revenge. The pangs of guilt returned, however, and Harry hoped that he hadn't sown the seeds of any permanent gap between his two friends. Being an evil mastermind, he decided, was entirely too stressful for him.
"Come in, Percy, dear," Rita Skeeter said as Percy rapped softly on the door to Cornelius Fudge's office. He entered, shutting the door behind him, and stood with his hands in his robes, looking around the room awkwardly. Cornelius Fudge was seated behind his desk, looking bored and somewhat sleepy, while Rita Skeeter was sitting on the edge of the desk, one leg crossed over the other one, looking at Percy expectantly over her glasses.
"Mr. Fudge, sir," Percy said with a bow of his head. Fudge waved him off with one pudgy hand, sighing and leaning back in his chair. When Percy looked confused, Rita was quick to beckon him forward.
"Come in, sit down," she said, gesturing to a chair that had been placed before the Minister's desk. "You'll forgive the Minister of course. We've been conducting the interviews for days now, and he doesn't have the journalist's knack for tolerating such drudgery."
"Well, I won't take up too much of your time," Percy said. "I have to get back to work soon anyway, or I'll get much too far behind, and-"
"Of course, Percy, darling," Rita Skeeter said, holding up a hand to silence the young wizard. "Tell me, Percy, why do you enjoy working for the Ministry?"
"Well, it's good to be a part of something greater than yourself, you know?" Percy said. "Working here, I feel like I'm really working towards making a better world for wizards."
"You'd like to be a part of something great, Percy?" Rita said, standing up from the desk. Percy nodded as the reporter walked towards him, placing a hand on either arm of the chair and leaning towards him.
"That's good, Percy. You shall." Percy found that he couldn't take his eyes off of the Skeeter woman, as though she was the most entrancing beauty he had ever seen. His vision grew blurry on the edges as he stared at her face, and his sight became slightly clouded, softened, muted with light pinks and pastels.
"That's it, Percy. Do you see how good it feels to serve?"
"It feels…good to serve," Percy said lackadaisically. Vaguely he was aware of Rita unbuttoning her blouse, pulling open her clothing to reveal a strange metal harness surrounding her torso. A gem glowed in the center of the harness, just over her naval.
"Stand up, Percy. Stand up, and you will receive the honor of becoming a Jaffa in our service."
A Jaffa, Percy though. That sounded so wonderful. And to be in the service of someone so strong, so beautiful…
How could he have ever thought something was wrong at the Ministry of Magic?