Losing Faith
Chapter Thirty-Four : International Relations
The International Ministry of Magic is never located in the same country for too long a time. In the past year, the Ministry building, in its entire splendour, has been materialised in the South of France, in the heart of wine country. But now, the building has uprooted itself and, beneath a cloak of invisibility, it floats across the skies to a new location--Northern Egypt, West of Cairo.
The rolling sand dunes and humid air are interrupted from their peaceful slumber from the piercing crack of the alliance's Apparation charm. Seven fervent wizards appear suddenly, their black robes noticeable against the browns of the desert. The robes the Last Alliance now wears are newly sewn and made from expensive velvet. The stitching is small and silver, and an emblem of a phoenix holding Excalibur in her claws is attached to the left lapel. Their hair is newly washed and properly styled; unlike the first few times they held audiences with the Ministry, they now look respectable.
"I . . . don't see it," Charlie Weasley states slowly, scanning his green eyes across the desert.
"Of course you don't," the commander replies, stifling a yawn. "The Ministry building is heavily cloaked. I'm surprised that you never knew that, Charlie. But of course, all other times we were here, we weren't exactly invited. Feels good, doesn't it? To be invited, I mean."
Igor Karkaroff shrugs and starts forward, his polished black boots sinking into the loose sand. "If we stand here dawdling, we're going to be late. That's not the first impression we wish to make."
"We've already made our first impressions, Karkaroff. Remember, they threw us out on our arses," Sirius Black replies, following in the footsteps that Karkaroff leaves across the barren desert.
The others remain silent, lost in the memory of their warm beds, and follow Karkaroff and Sirius, the commander bringing up the rear. They walk the desert, their robes billowing around them, sand collecting in the wrinkles of their clothing and in their hair. They travel for less than an hour before Karkaroff stops, quickly reaching for his wand with his left hand.
"Put that away, Igor!" orders the commander as he rushes to the front. He stops beside the white-haired wizard, extending an arm and pressing his palm against what seems to be an undetectable force field. He pushes against it, and his hand slips through.
The black-haired wizard glances back at his troop before disappearing past the barrier. Sirius follows him next, and immediately pokes his head back through the field. From the back, Remus Lupin sniggers at the sight of Sirius's floating, grinning head.
"Hey, hey! Check this out!" Sirius calls, bobbing his head forward. "I'm like Nearly Headless Nick! Bleedin' hell, I wonder if I could join the hunt." A disembodied hand reaches through the barrier, wraps its fingers around Sirius's short black hair, and yanks. "Ahhh!" screams Sirius as he disappears.
Muttering blasphemies and oaths of immaturity towards Sirius, Severus passes through the barrier into the territory of the Ministry of Magic. The others quickly follow, and soon the rolling sand dunes and humid air resume their peaceful slumbers.
The building of the Ministry is a glorious spectacle only to those who are viewing it for the first time. Made from sturdy red brick, the building stands more than fifteen stories high, and flags of the world's countries surround the massive roof in a slant towards the sky. The Ministry stands in the centre of four bio-domes--ice, rainforest, desert, and mountain. They bleed into each other and are populated with species known and unknown to man. Circular windows with red and white stained glass filter sunlight into the Ministry, and red stepping-stones lead to the vast entryway.
Seven pairs of eyes stare in awe at the building, and are only brought out of their awe when a silver bell rings from inside of the Ministry.
"They're waiting--we wouldn't want to be late," the commander mumbles, pushing himself forward and through the doors.
They enter into a wide, empty hallway with a fountain at the end and doors with golden plaques bordering the corridor. Walking through the hall and towards the busty mermaid fountain, a horde of witches and wizards zoom by on their way to important business, and a series of ten lifts comes into view. When the commander presses the button, the doors to one lift open with a click. An overly nice voice telling them to have a pleasant stay sounds from above.
The Last Alliance enter the lift and are rushed up to the top floor with the pressing of another button. The doors swoosh open, and two guards are waiting to escort them to the Summit Hall. Severus and Sirius stumble out of the lift, both woozy from the sudden jolt that brought them here in less than three seconds. Remus helps Fleur forward, and Karkaroff takes the lead next to their commander. Charlie walks behind them all, amazed that just a few days ago he was a prisoner, and now he's standing in the Ministry of Magic, attending a conference of the Ministers.
"This vay please," one guard speaks, his German accent heavy.
The Last Alliance are guided into a large marble chamber that is barren compared to the rest of the Ministry building. Around twenty Ministers from the major countries are already sitting around the oak table, patiently waiting the arrival of their guests.
"Welcome, dear friends!" The Minister of Canada spreads her arms wide in greeting.
"Why don't we skip the pleasantries and attend to the business at hand?" grumbles Karkaroff, glancing at the Ministers with unimpressed black eyes.
The commander throws Karkaroff a disapproving glance. "Mind your manners, Igor. We are guests of these people, although I do wish that they had come to their senses sooner," he says sardonically.
Several of the Ministers rush forward to shake hands with the arrivals while others offer them seats next to the Minister of Canada, who seems to be in charge of this meeting since the untimely demise of the International Minister, Tahirah Nefertari.
"First, we'd like to congratulate you on successfully infiltrating ze borders of Britain and liberating Camp Phi," the Canadian Minister starts once the commotion has ceased. "We apologise profusely for not contacting you sooner. Since ze death of ze International Minister, t'ings 'ave been very 'ectic 'round 'ere, Mister . . ." the Quebec-native witch trails off, searching for a well-awaited name.
Beside the Canadian Minister, a young, flaxen-haired witch records the proceedings of the meeting. She perks her head up in sudden interest as the older woman beside her asks a name of the commander of the Last Alliance.
"My name is known to those who need to know it, ma'am," the commander replies, and the flaxen-haired witch pouts, setting her faded emerald eyes back towards her parchment. "If you wish to address me, 'sir' will be fine. I must thank you for calling us here today."
"The pleasure is all ours, sir," replies a grey-haired wizard in crimson and azure robes with silver stars on the collar. "We've been discussing how to . . . go about this meeting as the topics are touchy ones. I'm sure you've heard about Miss Nefertari . . ."
Karkaroff draws his gaze towards his hands as his mind wanders to two silver Sickles in the folds of his prestigious black robes. He clears his throat of the wedged lump of remorse, pushing it back down into his stomach. But he still feels sick at the memory.
" . . . and we've taken a vote, and it's unanimous," the Minister of America finishes.
"What vote, and what is unanimous?" Severus growls, not offering his trust towards these people who decide what matters to dirty their hands with and which ones to totally ignore. It seems it's only because of the murder of Tahirah that the Ministers have decided to converse with the Last Alliance.
A willowy Minister with darker skin clasps her hands before her on the table. "We have decided to offer the position of International Minister to your commander here," she replies, her English flimsy at best.
The seven members of the Last Alliance sit, dumbfounded.
"You-you can't mean that!" Charlie exclaims, glancing from Minister to Minister.
The secretary looks up, rubbing her sore wrist. "I'm sorry, what is your name?" she asks, her voice cold and distant. "You're new here. With them, I mean."
Charlie studies the woman. "I'm Charlie Weasley," he replies.
She nods and goes back to writing.
"We do mean it," the Canadian Minister begins. "We have discussed it many times, and although there are still some of us who protest"--she gives pointed glares to a few other Ministers--"we offer you the position."
The commander nods, pressing his lips together in contemplation. After a moment, he replies, "It's a nice gesture, Miss, but I'm afraid I must decline. I have my own business to take care of without the worries of the world on my shoulders. Besides, how do we know we can truly trust you? Just months ago you were ready to throw us out on our arses. If I remember correctly, you did."
"Times, zey 'ave changed," the French Minister replies.
"And you change alliances as much as your robes?" Severus snaps, the corners of his lips twitching in anger. "One day you want to help us, and the next you don't. You have made no effort to gain our trust, yet you invite us in here and expect us to dance a little jig and thank you for your help? It seems that without your help, we are doing fine on our own." A yielding hand belonging to Karkaroff lands on Severus's shoulder, silencing his words.
A tall and fine-boned Minister with the flag of Russia sewn on his lapel speaks before the short-tempered American Minister can respond. "You have no reason to trust us, sirs."
"He is right, you 'ave no reason to trust us," the Canadian responds politely. "But shall we try to start now? We 'ave Britain's best interests in mind, as you do."
Severus's eyebrows quirk as his mouth does. "Since when? Since we launched an attack and were successful? Since we have nearly succeeded in the first step of our plans? You have only decided to help us because we proved we weren't the incompetent wizards you first labelled us to be. But now, who says that we truly need your help?"
"Snape, bite your tongue!" the commander barks.
"What is your plan?" the secretary asks abruptly, not looking up from her recording.
"Miss Raventon! Mind your manners. These people are important guests, and you are not permitted to speak to them with such intolerance!" the American Minister reprimands the secretary. She blushes violently, mumbling an insincere apology. "You must forgive her, she's new," he directs to the Last Alliance.
"No apology is needed, it's a free question to ask," Remus replies, feeling a twang of pity for Miss Raventon. He studies her intently; her Nordic facial features and light blonde hair are familiar, but he can't place from where. The American frowns and shifts in his non-cushioned seat as Remus continues. "If our commander allows it, we can tell you our plan of action."
No one speaks, but all eyes land on the commander. His brows crease in thought, taking into consideration Severus's words, which they all realise are true. They don't know these people, and it has been rumoured that Death Eaters may have infiltrated the Ministries and neighbouring countries.
"I believe we still have other matters to attend to," the commander declares.
The dark-skinned Minister folds her arms below her breasts, her dark hair flowing down her shoulders. "Such as?" she asks in Spanish, and then again in English.
The commander leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You have offered to help us, but can we freely accept that help knowing that we cannot fully trust the Ministers of other countries? Of course, this decision is entirely mine, and if I make the wrong one, I will have to live with it. I'm getting tired of two things: dying and making decisions that result in more deaths. So this is what will happen:
"We will keep you updated in our efforts, but we doubt we will be launching another attack. We set out to gather the heirs of Hogwarts as well as the heir of Merlin and we have done just that--we only need one more. We hope to cause as little bloodshed as possible. We refuse to kill our fellow wizards, for there's been too much of that already. Our plans have changed since you saw us last, and we have others on our side. The seed was planted, and it has blossomed into a lovely tree.
"The giants are now our allies and wait for our command. We have tapped into the powers of the Ancient Magicks and have even uncovered a few pages of history otherwise forgotten. We even have a Death Eater on our side and many prisoners doing what they can to help.
"We have gotten along just fine without you. You who might have Death Eater spies in your Ministries. You who might have a Death Eater spy in this room. And because of this, we cannot accept your offer."
