CHAPTER THREE
The Letter from No-One
There was a face in the darkness. Its face-length scar burned a painful, hot white. The face spoke, an unrecognisable voice echoed in his mind, words that made no sense. A strong hand appeared – held out in a friendly gesture. Harry was going to meet the hand, but recoiled at the sound of a gun being loaded. The scarred-man smiled, and the burning light morphed into an explosion, the sound of a gunshot. Screaming... screaming... Sweating, Harry quickly jumped from his bed and ran – softly – to the bathroom. After dousing himself with cold water, he reflected on his nightmare. Just who was this scarred man? Was it a version of him, lodged away in his sub-conscious? Or someone else, someone like Voldemort – able to infect his mind? He wanted to wake Ginny, he knew she would understand. However, she was late in coming to bed, the article took longer than she expected (the Quidditch game was finally won), and she needed her sleep. For the first time since he left school he wished he had someone... wiser, more intelligent. He wished he had Sirius.
Harry decided to go to work early that morning. He was an Auror for the Ministry of Magic, working under the tutelage of Kingsley Shacklebolt. Kingsley had always said that Harry was one of the finest Aurors that had ever worked at the Ministry, though Harry attributed this compliment to his failure to capture Pansy Parkinson, and he expected that the other Aurors – including Ron – received the same kind words. The Ministry had undergone severe changes since its taking over by Lord Voldemort during The Battle of Hogwarts. More and more effort was being made to conceal the wizarding world from the eyes of Muggles, while simultaneously developing plans for a long term plan to fully reveal themselves. It was becoming apparent that there were growing numbers of mixed race witches and wizards (with Muggle and magic parentage), so it was decided by the Minister, Amos Diggory that a more concerted effort should be made to integrate Muggle awareness.
Apparation was never one of Harry's most enjoyable aspects of wizardry, the feeling of being squeezed into a small space that wasn't there wasn't particularly enjoyable. He arrived outside the Leaky Cauldron, the hub between the Muggle world and the wizard world and a decent place to buy some breakfast. The owner of the Leaky Cauldron was Hannah Abbot, wife to Harry's good friend Neville Longbottom who was also Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts. When Harry entered he noticed that it was empty, save for a tired-looking Hannah cleaning the last of the previous nights drinks, no doubt sparked by the end of the Quidditch World Cup. "I didn't think anyone would have celebrated Italy winning..." Harry said, helping to move some of the half-drunken Fire Whisky glasses. "They weren't celebrating Italy winning" Hannah said wryly, "they were celebrating that it's over – a lot of local Quidditch teams have Italian and Bulgarian players, they don't want them to get tired!" Then, almost as if she had just noticed him, Hannah asked "What are you doing here so early?" "I wanted to get some work done at the Ministry," Harry lied "it's best to get a head start, you know?" Hannah smiled as she pulled her slightly untidy hair back into a ponytail. "How's Neville? I heard his parents passed away..." Harry asked, slightly cautiously. Hannah turned her back to him and answered "In a way, I think they had been dead to him for a long time. Not to say that their passing didn't mean anything to him, but..." she turned around, and Harry saw the pain in her eyes "...at least now they're at peace."
Years ago, an evil witch by the name of Bellatrix Lestrange tortured Neville's parents to the breaking points of madness. He had never really shown any outward feeling to Harry that reflected the unlimited heartbreak he must have been feeling. Harry suddenly remembered the moment he, Ron and Hermione had unwittingly met Neville at St. Mungo's Hospital and how they all came to realise that he was a far more damaged person than his forgetfulness showed. In the years to follow that moment, Neville would show far more courage than anyone could have predicted and Harry considered him a very close friend and confidant.
"So," Hannah said, dragging Harry from his thoughts, "what'll it be? The same Muggle 'delicacy' you always have?" "Bacon and egg sandwich please." Harry said with a knowing smile. Hannah laughed as she walked from the bar to the back room. Harry took a seat adjacent to the roaring fireplace, and began to read the day's edition of the Daily Prophet. As he was reading a fascinating story on the debate over werewolf legislation, Hannah arrived with his breakfast. "There's no question for me," she began "after Professor Lupin, I realised we should be doing our best to help poor witches and wizards in this situation." "I would agree, Hannah, if I had not met Fenrir Greyback..." Hannah merely nodded, clearly uncertain how to answer. To stop the uncomfortable silence, Harry interjected: "Hannah, do you mind if I borrow some Floo powder? Only I don't feel like walking to work today." "Sure you can, Harry, I'll go grab some." After little time, Hannah returned with a small, woven bag. Harry took some of the Floo powder and before throwing it into the fire turned and said goodbye. The powder turned the fire a luminescent green, Harry stepped in and said clearly "The Ministry of Magic."
The main chamber of the Ministry was very tall and circular with corridors stretching as far as the eye could see in almost every direction. The marble walls were engraved with the individual achievements of many witch and wizard. Every now and then Harry caught one that he recognised, such as Fred Weasley, Bathilda Bagshot or Severus Snape. The roof was enchanted to randomly display the sky of various places around the world, whilst in the centre stood a giant statue of a man which represented the current mood of the people who were working at the Ministry. At the moment it was sitting, reading a piece of parchment. Harry took this to mean that a particularly important bulletin had been made. It wasn't until Harry noticed that there was nobody else but he in the chamber that he thought something was wrong. He may be early but there are literally hundreds of people employed by the Ministry, with many of them going to and from rooms, usually through the central chamber. Eventually, a junior Minister employee walked out of one of the corridors, his faced buried in parchment. Harry recognised him as Cornelius Fudge Jnr.
"Cornelius?" Harry said, jogging towards the young man. "What's going on?" Cornelius looked up, his father's face (though decidedly more youthful) was askew in confusion. "Oh, Harry!" He said, slightly surprised. "What do you mean what's going on? I've read this thing a dozen times – everyone's got one – we've no idea where it came from! I'm still trying to make sense of it! You've probably got one yourself. The Minister can't answer us, and as far as the Aurors can tell, there's no dark magic in it whatsoever. In fact, there isn't a trace of magic at all!" Harry was stunned. Every letter written – or touched – by a witch or wizard leaves residual magic. For this to be possible it must have been written by a Muggle. "I know what you're thinking," Cornelius continued "a Muggle, right? Well, we all found these on our desks. We don't know how they got here! I mean, there's always a member of the Ministry at his or her desk at one point of the day, yet somehow these things made it inside with nobody noticing!" Harry was increasingly confused, and curious. "Do you mind, Cornelius?" He asked. "Oh! No, go ahead" Cornelius handed the piece of paper to Harry, its words clearly typed on a computer. Harry began to read:
To the 'Ministry of Magic',
We write to you with important news. However, before we get to that we must outline just who 'we' are, and why you must consider us very important. We are The Department for Occult Regulation, or the DOR for short. We have existed for a very short time, but our influence and ideas have borne fruit within the government. We operate in extreme secret, as you may have discovered when you found this letter. Unfortunately, I cannot reveal just how we performed such an elaborate illusion, you have your secrets and we have ours. So, we are sure you are thinking how did we originate?
In the 'Battle of Hogwarts', you failed to recognise that many humans would also be caught up in your wide net of destruction. Your self-importance and ignorance did not account for the casualties that we would suffer. Using various techniques, we discovered spectral apparitions you call 'Dementors' prowling our streets, werewolves being set loose and 'Dark' wizards killing innocent humans. I am sure that you have heard of the notorious Pansy Parkinson? Well, let us assure you that she has been caught and dealt with by the DOR.
Fifteen years ago, the DOR was established by one man. It took the rest of us a long time to accept the existence of your kind, but when we did – and realised your danger to civilisation – it was decided that we had to act as quickly and succinctly as possible.
As a result, the government has given us the go ahead for enacting Clause Six of our constitution. It reads: "Should the wizarding community since Awareness Day (The Battle of Hogwarts) be guilty of genuine oversight to contain its dangers, be it man, ethereal or creature, then the Department for Occult Regulation should intervene." As you can see, Ms. Parkinson's unprovoked attack is in clear violation.
As a result, agents from the DOR shall be arriving at various places within the wizarding community (Hogwarts, the Ministry of Magic, Hogsmede, Diagon Alley and Godric's Hollow) with the intention of overseeing wizarding life with – we hope – little need to intervene any more. We must, however, point out that any decision made by the Ministry or subject taught by Hogwarts will need to be clarified with the DOR. We provide this information so you may begin the necessary preparations.
Please, do not attempt to contact the Prime Minister. His leanings towards the wizarding community is well documented by the DOR, and by the time you have read this his replacement will be running the country, and any communication with him will be impossible.
Try to understand that we are being as generous as we can be. Agents shall arrive in twenty-four hours. Magic of any kind will be useless – we have developed a method of defending ourselves. If you manage to withhold your anger and co-operate, the DOR will finish its evaluation and leave.
Yours,
Nobody.
Harry stood, stunned. He was suddenly transported into the memories of the dream he had that morning, and the morning before. This letter, those dreams, they could be connected. But how? Had Muggles managed to tap into his brain? It seemed ridiculous, but so did the idea that there was a group of Muggles bent on 'overseeing' wizard activity, and just what did it mean that they had discovered a way of 'defending themselves'? Harry was suddenly jerked from his thoughts by a young assistant to the Minister. "Potter? Harry Potter?" She asked. "Y-yes. Yes, that's me." "The Minister wants to see you in his office." Harry obliged and slowly made his way. It seemed to Harry that one way or another, wizard-Muggle relations would need to step up a gear.