Wait! Don't sue! It all belongs to J.K. Rowling!
a/n: I've written more! Please leave a review and enjoy! I'm WORKING AS HARD AS I CAN. Happy Leif Eriksson Day!
"Hello, Rita. Is business well?"
"Booming,"
"How wonderful for you,"
"Though I must admit my readers are just aching for answers on a subject I take very seriously,"
"I can't imagine what that might be." Rita cackled most unconvincingly and swayed dangerously in her 6-inch heels as she smacked his shoulder playfully with a large, manicured hand.
"You, silly!" she chimed. "One hour, Harry," gaining seriousness alarmingly fast. "That's all I need to interview you. I'll do the rest, and then you can gain so much! I'll have your first biography out by summer's end!"
He sighed and hoisted himself off the bench he was sitting on in the Ministry Atrium. He regained his balance a moment on the cane Madam Pomfrey had insisted him using, shutting his eyes and allowing the pain and stiffness to ease. The Hogwarts nurse had told him his left leg needed natural repair for a while. "Grazed by one too many Stunning Spells," she had said. He didn't like it much. For one thing, it made him feel old and tired. For another, it made Rita Skeeter all the more capable of catching up to him as he made his way over to the elevator, her being equally handicapped by her choice in footwear.
"I'm sorry Rita," he droned in mock regret as he made his way, "As much as I'm dying for another of your interrogations, I have a meeting with the Minister right now." He hobbled into the elevator at last—more than one person walked out of it in subtle defiant protest to the Boy Who Lived and his beliefs. "If you want dirt on my life and all, why don't you go ask them?" he asked smugly, gesturing feebly toward the workers who had chosen to take a Potter-free route to their offices. Rita frowned and turned to leave as the golden gates screeched shut; Harry saw her stumble treacherously as they sealed.
He felt the familiar lurch in his stomach as the elevator took him higher, frequently stopping to allow witches, wizards, and flying paper memos to file urgently out. He was the only one left in the small cabin when a cool, female voice spoke "Level One, Minister for Magic and Support Staff." The gates opened and he strode casually down the chilly halls to the office and knocked, trying his best not to look at the guards who were set by the doors. "Enter," he heard inside, and one of the guards pushed him away to free the heavy internal locks with a wave of his stubby wand. When at last he was allowed in, he walked uncomfortably in on his knotty cane.
"Kingsley," he said to the man busy at the mahogany desk. It was a large, cozy office, full of books and dark wood furniture. A large window looked over a magically projected image of London, and a small door was to the side of the room, clearly leading to an assistant's office.
"Hello, Harry. Please sit," said Kingsley in his deep, relaxing voice. Harry took a seat across from him. The temporary Minister for Magic tore himself from his work to face Harry. His robes were stained in several places, and there were dark circles underneath his eyes. His gaze was sympathetic, but not pitying. "I understand this has been a difficult day for you, as I'm sure most days have been." Harry shrugged. He was still wearing his black dress robes from Fred's funeral earlier today. "I'm very sorry, Harry. I hate to put you through so much pressure after you must be grieving—,"
"Kingsley, I'm fine," he interrupted, not wanting to listen to sympathy. "Tell me what you brought me here to tell me." Kingsley examined him searchingly, then looked down at what was clearly a list of things to do. From what Harry could see, it was long.
"Well," sighed Kingsley, "We've got plenty for you to do. We've had to hire you an assistant." Harry's eyes widened.
"An assistant?"
"Yes, I'll call her in," he said casually, getting up from his chair and walking over to the door at the side of the room. "Bring her in," he said quietly inside.
"She'll be there in a moment, she just needs to finish registering," came a voice inside.
"Excellent," he said deeply, sitting back down in his profoundly cushioned desk chair. "Back to business. I've had someone look at the majority of our records of occurrences that you've been involved in the past years, and they are severely incorrect. The Ministry has literally posted clips and quotes from the Daily Prophet—Rita Skeeter usually—and used them as evidence. It's all lies, no truth." Someone walked in the room just behind Harry, but Kingsley continued to speak occasionally referring to his papers. "Seeing as you were the main witness at most of these events, you need to redo the paperwork on most of them. Not to mention, we also need one to two additional witnesses to support your answers. Plus we need profiles on people like Sirius Black, Cedric Diggory, Dumbledore, controversial people like that. That's just the least that you have to do.
"I'm afraid you've been left no choice but to announce formally to the Wizengamot, both on paper and in person, where you've been, and what you've done for the past year. Ron and Hermione need to do likewise. They will ask you brutal questions, so you must be certain to answer directly and accurately." Harry rubbed his forehead. He wasn't ready to talk. "You are scheduled to meet with the Wizengamot in one week." The person sitting behind Harry scratched down a date on a schedule.
"Will it have the same people as before? Umbridge, for example?" Harry asked anxiously.
"No," he said soothingly, "We're currently questioning them for crimes against muggle-borns and what not. Some will go to Azkaban, others will be suspended, but in all I have a feeling we'll have less than half the members we had originally," he said bitterly.
"Anyway, I have requested anyone connected to the Ministry be questioned for reputation, just to make sure we have an accurate record of all witches and wizards. People should be receiving notices about now, and the closest relative to the deceased will come and speak for them.
"The Ministry is also in search of a new headmaster to Hogwarts," he said glumly.
"What about Professor McGonagall?" Harry asked. Kingsley pinched a headache between his eyes.
"She has agreed to stay one more year as Transfiguration teacher, but insists she's too old to be Headmistress. I have the suspicion she's only staying another year to make sure all the new replacement teachers are worthy. We also need a new Muggle Studies, Herbology (Professor Sprout retired, conveniently enough), and Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I think I'll need your help on that, too.
"When we're done with all this, which will hopefully be by the end of the summer, we do need to discuss career arrangements for you, but we'll save that for another day," he said dismissively. He stood up and picked up a thin, metal briefcase sitting by the window looking over the slowly revolving London Eye. He handed it to Harry over the desk. "That has all the paperwork in it."
"Bit small, isn't it?"
"No, I had to put several Undetectable Enlargement Charms on it. There's enough in there to fill a truck. I wanted to save you the hassle of having to move it all as it was." Kingsley grinned for the first time. "Thank you, Harry, your input saves me more than you know."
"Anytime. I'll see you in a week Kingsley."
"Yes, a week it is."
They shook hands officially. Harry turned around and made for the door, leaning roughly on his cane, scratching his head with his eyes watching the ground just ahead of him. He never imagined he would be this pressured when the war was over, but he had enough work to last him a lifetime, it seemed, writing records on all the main people and events of his life.
He raised his head, hoping to introduce himself to his new assistant, when he realized there was no need for introduction. It hit him like a bomb; to such an extent that he stopped in his tracks and swayed, wide-eyed, in his place.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded bluntly of a very eager-looking Cho Chang, whom had just stood up to meet her new boss.