On average, the Wizengamot of magical Britain passes four new pieces of legislature a quarter.
These motions are often inconsequential, concerning that thrice damned problem of cauldron thickness or some other infinitesimal matter.
Every once in a while, however, an important piece of legislation is passed. Despite the rarity of such an occurrence, or perhaps because of it, the passing of these statutes is quite the production. The cavernous room of the Wizengamot is filled to bursting with members of the press and public, while the members of the legislative body strut and preen with self-importance.
There is nothing Zacharias Smith loves more than production.
Today he whirls about the wizengamot, rich violet robes fluttering haughtily. Red mouth fixed in a pompous smirk, he schmoozes his way through the upper echelons of wizarding society.
Today is finally his day.
He sits patiently through the session, nodding and humming and pretending to listen intently when necessary. He exchanges pointed barbs with his colleagues, and finds a convenient excuse to drop famous names whenever possible- "Who, the minister? Oh, a cousin of mine. Why, I visited him just the other day!" to When the Chief Warlock opens the floor to new suits, Zacharias stands, brushes nonexistent dust from his immaculate robes, and takes to the circular floor below the stands.
"Good people of the Wizengamot," Zacharias begins, arms flung wide as if to embrace the Lords and Ladies of the chamber. "It is a privilege to be here before you. In fact, it is a privilege to be here at all! Many of our brethren perished in the war, taken from us by those desperate to divide us. Those that were aided and abetted by-" Here he spins dramatically, accusatory finger pointed towards the tapestries above the great doors that bear the images of all the Ministers of Magic. "-Our very own ministry!" A horrified gasp arises from the room, as though they expect the ministers to crawl from their portraits and conspire against them then and there. Zacharias continues, murky blue eyes glinting mischievously.
"Thankfully, we are today guided by a ministry of fine witches and wizards, such as those in this great body." The wide grin pasted on his face falls, replaced with a worried frown that does not seem quite sincere. "But friends, if we are to truly move on and recover from the horrors of the last wizarding war, we must ensure that all avenues for corruption are closed. We must work to create a world where right is right, and stays right regardless of who is in power. It is up to us, to leave our society a more grounded one for those that will come after us. In remembrance of that obligation, I ask that you take a stand. Stand strong against corruption. Stand strong against forces that seek to divide us. Stand strong for our people, and stand against those in power who seek to use the honor we have bestowed upon them for their own selfish gains!" Panting, Zacharias pivots slowly to take in the fired up Wizengamot. Whether or not they have taken the time to actually read the rather long-winded law is inconsequential. What matters is their passion, the fact that they are as eager as he to see this law passed and (in their minds) fight heroically against evil.
Zacharias grins. "And another thing," He continues. "To anyone who would stand opposite us, who would seek to see darkness thrive in place of light-" He makes pointed eye contact with the crowd at random. Those he locks eyes with shiver nervously. "We will remember you. We will keep in mind those who stand against us."
The chamber is silent.
Nodding resolutely, Zacharias makes his way back to his family chair. As he walks, the chamber rises to its feet, a slow clap morphing into thunderous applause. Several people wipe away tears in remembrance of fallen ones, and there is no one, no one, who would dare vote against today's motion.
There is nothing Zacharias Smith loves more than production.
Astoria Malfoy is many things.
A bad sister is not one of them.
She has strived to be a good sister all her life. She has not always been perfect, and Daphne doesn't always make it easy, but she has been good, and she takes pride in that fact.
Astoria Malfoy is not a bad sister.
So why does she feel like such a horrible one now?
For the past four days, Astoria has endeavoured to be the support that holds Daphne up. She has listened and reassured, cooked and cleaned, and slept hardly a wink in her efforts to support her sister. She has sat patiently beside the whirlwind that is Daphne, as her sister cycles from anger to despair to despondency and back. She turned all the pictures of her little nephew around at the request of his mother, despite the fact it feels a little too much like mourning for her liking. She hardly sees her own child from one day to the next for fear that it will upset her sister, regardless her own feelings of terror for him.
Astoria Malfoy is a great sister.
It's quite unfair she feels utterly useless.
No matter what she does, she cannot bring back the sparkle in her sisters eye. She cannot make her brother-in-law smile, or her own husband laugh. Everyone around her is a collage of grey and the color clings to her, more and more each day, weighing her down like an anvil.
She wants to scream color back into their lives.
Today the four of them trudge to the Minister's office, limbs lumbering as if wading through molasses. The people of the ministry part before them, hushed questions left unanswered by the sorrowful brigade.
When they reach the sparse waiting room, Harry and Daphne sit together, but apart. Harry sits stoically, green eyes unblinking. Daphne is beside him, body huddled in on itself and angled unconsciously away from her husbands'. That, more than anything, pains Astoria.
Astoria Malfoy is a great sister.
It's just that right now she has trouble believing it.
The portly secretary waves them in from behind a cluttered desk. The foursome stand and shuffle forward, stepping behind a ruby red door and into an upscale office.
An oaken desk stands regally in front of the magic windows that frame all of the ministry offices. They stand in stark contrast to the mood of the room, baby blue skies forming a brilliant backdrop to puffy white clouds. Pacing the violet carpet is one Kingsley Shacklebolt, shiny bald head reflecting the light from the windows. He waves vaguely towards the chairs in front of his desk, and slows to a stop in front of them.
Harry is the first to speak from where he sits, ramrod straight in his wood backed chair.
"What's the hold up Kings?" Harry holds on to Daphne's hand like a lifeline. "It's been four days, four days where our son has been completely off the grid. Why aren't the Hit-Wizards out there, doing their job?" Harry stands at the end of his tirade, jolted out of his seat by the force of his anger. Next to him, Daphne flinches, almost imperceptibly. Instantly, Harry is softer, flaming green eyes cooling quickly as he squeezes her too pale hand in apology. Kingsley sighs exhaustedly.
"If it were up to me Hal, I would have had them out there and looking for your boy days ago, I swear it." Padding behind the desk, he rummages around before pulling out a wrinkled copy of 'The Daily Prophet'. Passing it to the still standing Harry, he turns his attention to the three blondes still seated.
"The day after James' kidnapping, the Wizengamot voted on several new laws." Kingsley begins as Harry appears to cycle through all seven stages of grief in the time it takes him to read the article. "The largest one enacted a variety of new measures designed to 'inhibit corruption'. The most important measure restricts the amount of government tools high-ranking individuals can harness without a approval of both the Wizengamot and the ministry board." At this news, both Daphne and Draco deflate. Confused by the tears welling up in her sister's eyes, Astoria turns her attention to the Minister.
"What does that mean?" For all her top of the class bravado she is woefully ignorant concerning the politics of her world, having luxuriated in her position as a second daughter of a pureblood house, free from the unyielding standards and lessons that dominate the life of an heir. Before Kingsley can respond, Harry answers, still clutching the newspaper in a vice grip.
"It means the Hit-Wizards can't be used to retrieve James. They're only mustered for especially high risk missions, something magic sensitivity cases are not, under ministry law." Harry seems to sink under the revelation, broad shoulders hunched as he settles back into the chair. Beside him Daphne screws her eyes shut, focusing what little energy has been left to her on containing her tears. Desperate to bring her elder sibling even a fraction of peace, Astoria latches on to what little piece of hope she can find.
"But we can get the Hit-Wizards, can't we? All we have to do is get the Wizengamot and the Board, whatever that is, to agree that the aurors aren't enough for this case! Surely they'll listen to you Harry!" Tori's frantic hopes are dashed by a morose Draco. Laying a pale hand on her arm, he elaborates quietly.
"No, Tori." His white blonde hair is disrupted by a shake of his head. "The board is made up of the Minister, the most senior department head, and the most junior one. Just our luck, the minister recently appointed Cecilia Robards as head of Transportation." Seeing the frown on Astoria's face, he continues. "Cecilia is the wife of Gawain Robards, the head auror- though he's at Mungo's now, potions accident. The aurors and Hit-Wizards have been bitter rivals for as long as anyone can remember. They see us as upstarts and we see them as untrained and irrelevant, which they are." His weak attempt at a joke falls flat. "We'll never get Cecilia to agree to anything concerning the Hit-Wizards, especially if the request comes from one. It's no use. We either accept the help of the aurors, or we do nothing."
The fire in Harry's eyes roars back to life at Draco's words. "No," He growls, rising to his feet. "Those wand happy fools will only be too happy to screw up this operation to spite a Hit-Wizard in the name of rivalry. All it would take is an 'accidental' spell to injure my son. No, those aurors will be put on this case over my dead body." With only a kiss to Daphne's cold cheek, he stalks out. The slamming of doors thunders behind him. Draco hurries after him with a nod to his wife and the minister. Astoria can only shake her head in wonderment. Guiding a still silent Daphne out of the Ministers office, it is all she can do to shield her from curious gazes as they make their way to the atrium. Flooing into the foyer of Potter Manor, she is shocked from her stupor by the quiet voice of her sister.
"Will I ever see him again Tori?" Daphne does not look at her as she speaks, grass green eyes focused on a picture on the far wall. Astoria turns, and catches sight of a photograph of a smiling James that somehow escaped the culling of its brothers. Deftly stepping in between Daphne and the picture she bustles her sister into the kitchen. She whirls around the kitchen, babbling incessantly about any mundane topic that comes to mind.
She does not, cannot answer her sisters question.
Astoria Malfoy is many things.
All-knowing is not one of them.
Zacharias Smith likes to think of himself as a pillar of wizarding society.
As part of his self-prescribed duties, he spends his time after leaving his office at the ministry in Diagon Alley, taking care to be seen conversing with the common people. He takes his meals in the 'Leaky Cauldron', loudly recounting his day in session for all to hear. He is careful to speak with even the particularly ornery patrons of the pub, taking their pointed silences as invitation to share his opinion on anything from celebrity gossip to the new store opening at the other end of the alley. After thoroughly harassing the people of the 'Leaky', he makes a show of leaving the alley, whistling a jaunty tune as he apparates away.
Very few know that Zacharias does not return home after apparating. Instead, he materializes in Knockturn Alley, stepping off of the apparition point and hurrying off. Blue eyes scan empty storefronts and trash littered roads for unseen watchers.
It does not do for pillars of wizarding society to be caught on these streets.
In stark contrast to the rebuilt streets of Diagon Alley, Knockturn is populated by crumbling walls and broken glass. The stench of alcohol and fire hangs heavy in the night air. Zacharias pays no mind to the dilapidated area, huddling his thin robe closer to his lanky body and making his way through the curving cobblestone road.
Quickly, he makes his way to one of the few open establishments left in this part of town, a grim looking bar situated deep within the alley. Normally, Zacharias would hurry to his usual seat in the back of the bar, cautious of being seen by too many curious eyes. Wary of being late to such an important meeting, he stops briefly in a dark alleyway to glamour his cheery robes and mousy hair to a muted grey.
He is halfway through disguising his features with a well placed charm when a gloved hand emerges from the alleyway, yanking him in and pinning him to the cold cement wall before he can blink. Cold emerald eyes stare back at watery blue as the black cloaked figure presses his arm into Zacharias' windpipe. Helpless to stop the stars that fill his eyes, wand having clattered away somewhere in the scuffle, he tries in vain to claw at his attacker. It is only when his spindly fingers halt their futile defense against the assailant that he is let go and drops to the ground.
He watches from his position on the hard stone as the figure points a wand his way. Eyes screwed shut in preparation, he holds himself and prepares to die, alone and overpowered on the cold floor.
One breath.
Two.
Zacharias risks opening an eye towards his assailant. Whatever charm that had hid all but his eyes from view has been canceled, leaving the wicked smile of Harry Potter bare to his eyes.
Wonderful.
Now resigned to his fate, Zacharias does not close his eyes. If he is going to die here, he supposes, he will at least look his death in the eye.
Harry tilts his head, eyeing Zacharias' change of heart with a coldly amused grin.
"Do you have a death wish Smith?" Harry speaks quietly but confidently, wand hand never wavering from Zacharias' body. Confused at his apparent lack of deadness, He shakes his head slowly. Harry nods, as if taking in the information. He speaks again.
"If you want to make it back home tonight, listen very carefully. I do not enjoy repeating myself. Do you understand?" Nodding again, Zacharias begins to hope that maybe today is not his last.
"Your contact, the one you were going to meet," Harry is interrupted by Zacharias' shocked gasp. Rolling his eyes, Harry beckons the other man to hush with his free hand. "Yes, I know about your little gambling problem. But using your political influence, what little there is, to pay it off? Very naughty Smith!" Harry tsks. From his place on the ground, Zacharias harrumphs. Harry continues on, oblivious. "They are the one who told you to pass your little law, correct?" The tip of his wand glows menacingly at Zacharias' hesitation. Eyes widened in terror, Zacharias nods frantically.
"I thought so." Harry hums. Squatting down, he lowers his wand tip to Zacharias' ear. Seeing the confused face of the other man, Harry elaborates.
"It's fascinating what you can do by just overpowering a simple spell," The cold grin is back. It twists Harry's features, darkening them into something undoubtedly deadly. "You're familiar with 'Scourgify', of course?" Zacharias nods, terrified comprehension dawning on his face. "Good boy!" Harry patronizes, eyes glimmering. "I'm sure you can imagine what would happen to your insides should I send and industrial powered cleaning charm their way, can't you?" Harry chuckles at the accusatory glare Smith sends his way. "Oh, don't do that, you brought this on yourself old boy! Now, I'll ask you one more time for good measure. Do you have a death wish?"
Zacharias answers in the negative. Harry smiles cheerily.
"Wonderful! Now, you're going to tell me everything you know about who took my son." At the shake of Zacharias' head, Harry tuts. "No no, friend, that won't do. You wouldn't have passed that law if you hadn't had something to do with that whole mess, you must know something. Don't think ignorance will get you off the hook, I'm not leaving without some information."
For the first time since this ordeal started, Zacharias finds it within himself to speak.
"I was only told that you wouldn't be happy if the law was passed, I figured because it was a cap on your power, I swear I only did it to spite you-" At the shake of Harry's head and the raising of his wand, Zacharias throws out the only card he has left.
"I have a name!" He cries, body huddled in on itself. Harry pauses, one eyebrow raised. Relieved at this stay of execution, Zacharias continues. "They call her Madame Midnight. She knows everything that goes on in these parts, all of the plots or feuds. If anyone knows who has your son, it's her."
At this revelation Harry nods. He is no stranger to Madame Midnight, having been firmly entrenched in the goings on of the dark side of the wizarding world when he was a Hit-Wizard. The Queen-Mother of the criminal underbelly, so to speak, Madame Midnight keeps a firm eye on those who pass through her realm. Any Hit-Wizard worth his salt knows that angering her is a one-way ticket to the morgue.
If anyone knows who is responsible for the kidnapping, it's her.
Turning back to the still cowering Zacharias, Harry stands. Beckoning the other man up from the floor, he leans forward and speaks.
"I've decided to be merciful today, Smith." Smirking at the palpable relief coming from the other man, Harry continues. "But you've still to learn that their are consequences for your actions." Before the other man can move away from the impending danger, Harry raises his wand and fires off a shiny purple spell. Zacharias shrieks, looking up in shock when the spell simply dissipates on contact. Already strolling away, Harry turns back to answer the unasked question.
"Remarkable piece of magic, the Cassandra spell. I can only imagine how it must feel to have everything you say, no matter how obvious, regarded as false by those around you. Ta ta now Smith!" Harry chuckles to himself, drowning out the furious scream of Zacharias Smith with a jaunty whistle as he waltzes down the dingy streets.
When Zacharias calms enough to grab his wand and set off after him, he is already gone into the still night. Zacharias stomps his foot pathetically. Knowing his contact would have already left the bar, he begins the trek to the apparition point. As he walks through the quiet, thoughts a whirl, he tries to forget the events of the night. Instead, he looks forward to the loving embrace of his wife and a warm bed.
That is until, he is put out of his bedroom for 'incessant lying'. Trekking towards the lumpy couch, he winces at the thought of working with his colleagues until the spell wears off.
Some pillar of wizarding society he'll be.