18th June

"Nice hat." I say.

"My wife bought it for me," Fudge says, twisting his lime bowler around and around in his fingers.

Madam Puddifoot's isn't as garish as it is on Valentine's Day, when breathing the very air brings on memories of Umbridge-itis, but there's still just that bit too much pink. Still, I didn't choose to come here. Fudge sent me an owl yesterday asking to meet him, and regardless of being an ex-Minister (who have a reputation of never getting on with their gloating successors) he still retains some vestige of influence.

He sits opposite me and finally puts down his hat. He reaches for a tea cup and begins to stir it, forgetting completely that he has neglected to pour any tea in.

"You've won, then."

"What?"

"You've won. Dumbledore was right. You were right. You-Know-Who returned, Sirius Black was innocent, and I have been made to look an idiot in front of the Ministry."

I feel a bit sorry for him, and woefully try to cheer him up.

"Well- well, you always looked like an idiot," I admit "so- maybe nobody's actually noticed?"

There is an awkward pause.

"I just made it worse didn't I?"

"Yes."

Oops.

"It's not just me!" I explode. "You have never known the amount of damage you have caused!"

Fudge's eyes pop.

"D-damage?"

I almost want to cry out with frustration; but now is not the time. I'm here to tell him what he needs to know, years too late. Only now, when he has lost power, can he be told what he needs to hear, and not what he wants to hear as far as I'm concerned.

"2,500. The number of Child Aurors who died during Vodemort's reign of terror. One in five. The number of those under the age of 17 in full time employment. 32%- the percentage of those children that can read and write. 46%; the percentage of those in child employment who live to see their 21st birthday. 39%; the percentage that live to be 30. 5%; the percentage who of child workers who live long enough to contemplate retirement.

This is the life you have condemned me to."

At each statistic, Fudge gets increasingly more shaken.

"But- Dolores assured me-"

"Oh, you mean Umbridge? Interesting. I sent those statistics to her over 12 months ago. Care to hear the response?"

"No! I beg you."

I unfold the letter and begin to read exercepts with bitter relish.

"If I want statistics, I will ask for them from my own office. Your opinion is immaterial to me; if I want an opinion I will ask someone educated, unbiased, who can speak "proper." The system in place is vital to avoid contamination in our workplace from half-breeds, werewolves and other clearly unsuitable candidates. This is the price we pay for your freedom, Miss Popyngcart. This is the sacrifice the ministry undertakes on your behalf. You should at least try to act with good grace. I cannot stand ungratefulness and your disloyalty to your employers disgusts me. This is what must be done for the Greater Good. PS. What Cornelius doesn't know what hurt him. Breathe a word about this and you and your family will never work again under any circumstances."

"Funny woman, the one you call your friend."

But suddenly, vengeance is not mine. Bullying Fudge will get me nowhere. There's nothing we can do now. I don't want to hurt Fudge any more. He's lost enough already.

Fudge didn't create this mess. Umbridge did. And it's now her I want to hurt. I don't want to get angry with wet little Fudge any more. I want to punish Umbridge for what she's done.

I take a deep breath, and try to make amends.

"But, we are both against Voldemort so it seems we must be on the same side now. Albus wants me to let bygones be bygones and deal with more serious matters than you and your stupid government. Forgive me, Fudge for my anger and my cruelty to you today, please. I will forgive you, if you like, and let us talk no more of it."

And that is that. I stand, leaving all untouched (at Puddifoot's they don't charge you if you don't order anything) and go home undismissed.

19th June

I never believed today would ever happen.

As with many bad things, it all started with Umbridge. The new Minister, Scrimgeour (my old protector and the only person in the Auror Office apart from Joan who actually cares if I live or die) has the gullibility to keep her on, so it seems we all must deal with the bufo (that's Latin for toad).

She came swanning into the office on her fat little legs and all heads turned, along with a few stomachs. All was silent, partly because she had the most hideous pink mohair coat on (does she want to look like a used lint roller?) and because in her stubby hands she held- a document. And documents in the Office mean trouble, and change and strife.

She gave a little hem hem. I should have known even then.

"There is to be an additional compulsory clause to the contracts of the following Aurors regarding guardianship of Hogwarts Castle: Miss Tonks and the Misses Popyngcart-"

"Mrs Stanley and Miss Popyngcart, thank you very much!"

"-will be the ones required to sign the additional clause. Miss Tonks, the minister wishes to see you first. You may go up now."

The sight of her lonely figure approaching Umbridge made me straighten my arm and raise my hand.

"What is this clause?"

Umbridge smiled sadistically, her face broadening with glee.

"A personal one."

I worried for Tonks throughout all of the morning. She didn't return for hours; and in our profession that is never a good thing. Had she been called up only to be faced with a firing squad?

But she returned; and I came near to wish her to have seen a firing squad instead. This was not Tonks who returned, but a shaken caricature, death pale and faded hair, now brown and lifeless. I prayed for deliverance for what I was called next to face.

"What was it?"

She shook her head. "I cannot speak of it. It would be to live it again; spare me that at least."

I should have known the moment Scrimgeour led me down to the Department of Mysteries. I should have known by the cold of the air.

But it was not until the sight of Jaina, Alysha and Branwell that I realised what was going on.

Jaina, Alysha and Branwell- in chains.

Well, not exactly chains. They were under a full Body Bind Curse, inches from that veil. The only thing keeping them alive were three golden hoops (at the neck, waist and ankles) linked with a scaffold that held them upright.

In the corner a death rattle shakes me to my bones, were I skeleton already. Scrimgeour waves his wand at the corner and a damask cloth tumbles from a silver cage from which rattles: the snatching, rasping cries of the Dementors encaged there.

"Now" says Scrimgeour quietly, and as patient as a tutor with a child. As Dumbledore to me.

"As you can see- you, the mistress of the power balance- the forces here are balanced. The cage holds them hold to their lives and souls. But of course, the equilibrium cannot last. There could never have been order if there had not been chaos. There is no good without evil. The scales must tip sometime. And now, as you have wished, you can choice which side to tip."

I turn to him sharply.

"I never asked for their deaths, nor ill-wished them!"

"Ah, but you have. In your own way, you have set the scene here today. For years you have persistently pestered me. "Get me freedom! Get me choice! Or get me power," your youth did cry.

And now, you have what you have wanted for. You have the chance to free yourself. Condemn them to suffering soulless and free yourself from the guilt of death. Or choose to end their lives and take the guilt all on yourself. You want choice: make it. Life or death. You want power: I do duly give the greatest power on earth; life and death. "

"it is too great a power for me to decide," I say meekly but I accept a polished wooden block that he hands to me, on which is set two buttons, one of gold and one of silver.

"The gold releases them, the silver the Dementors. One cage must be opened, and you will decide which one."

"I must certainly shall not!" I shout at him and throw the block down contemptuously. "I cannot do it."

"Fine," he says through gritted teeth and picks up the block. His thumb is poised over the silver button, and at last moment I can think of nothing but of it.

"No!" I scream and snatch it back. I can feel his eyes on me, waiting for the trap to spring.

"Your clock is ticking."

So it is. I am torn between the two choices, knowing that either way, something is sacrificed. I know which I would want, but I do not know if that makes my decision wise. I look at the grabbing hands of the Dementors, their foul mouths, their ragged gowns and the ironically named "Kiss." There is no love in such a gesture.

My fingers hover over both buttons. Then a voice goads me into a choice.

"You cannot make half a sacrifice."

My finger stabs at the golden button, and my futility even my finger fails me. I push and pummel it until my humiliation is worsened as Scrimgeour takes the wooden board and presses it firmly for me.

They do not make it easy. It is not quick. The joints of the hoops sigh and creak with the souls of those it has released. And slowly, the three of them fall back into the veil.

Tears stinging my eyes, I seal them shut. But another hand, a long one, closes itself around the chignon at the nape of my neck.

"Watch," he commands. "Or I bring more in."

I betray those who served me, lied for me, lived for me , died for me into purposeless death.

"They were people"

"They were pawns" he corrected me. "Pieces in our game. Some must be sacrificed, to gain victory."

"How? What did that achieve?"

"You are the daughter of a Death Eater, Marion Popyngcart. Names cannot change what has been done. I need to know that for whatever reason you have been offered- family sympathies, belief, blackmail, coercion- you will not defect. I need to be certain of your loyalties."

"Why should you?"

"You complain. You berate the Ministry, criticise it, and argue forcefully against its very principles."

"It is because of loyalty that I see its faults! I am trying to protect it from itself! Some loyalist I should be if I did not wish to improve it!"

"Little matter. I have defended you, Marion, from your follies and childish mistakes. Do not go against those who have power Marion, they will crush you. "

"You've just sent three innocent children to their deaths."

"Work experience interns, Marion. "

"Why? Why this cruelty?"

"It is war. Simple as that."

"And what of truth? What of innocence and justice and everything you and I have stood for?"

"We shall have them. When we have won.

But that is not the reason you are. I wish- as a friend- to warn you. Any suspicion, any doubt of your loyalty, any hint, any sign of defection, and you will see those cages again. But next time, it will be your sister and her daughter encaged. And next time I will not be so giving. Next time only one of them can have the mercy of death."

He turned me round to face him.

"Will you stand for us, obey every instruction, reveal all traitors whomever they may be, shun all sin and sedition and stand firm against defection?"

"I shall. I swear to it."

I knew. I knew, even then, that these would be empty words.