Chapter 124 – Delaying the Inevitable
Martin Entwhistle led a small group consisting of a senior Auror and others from the Ministry of Magic back to the empty Prime Minister's office via the floo. Auror training included an introduction to the muggle world, so while the senior Auror in his wizard robes looked out of place in the very muggle room, he was generally familiar with the things he saw. However, the wizard technicians in particular were seeing muggle technology they'd never encountered before. Consequently, several minutes were lost as they marveled over the computer screen perched near the desk, and the telephone with all its buttons.
"Don't touch anything," Entwhistle cautioned in a loud whisper, emboldened to speak up even to a more senior ministry worker when the wizard who was along to place a tracer on the floo sat in the Prime Minister's chair and moved to tinker with the computer keyboard. "Muggles have their own security procedures, lots of them connected to the things on the desk there. We don't want the people working in the outside office to come running in here while we're addressing the floo."
Disappointed, the wizard stood and joined his colleagues huddled around the fireplace from which they'd just exited. The senior Auror nodded approvingly at Entwhistle – it was always good to see a young Auror keep the mission's objective clearly in mind and not hesitate to speak out.
Wands were drawn and slashing through the air as the team went to work. Blue light filled the office as someone first placed a block on the floo to restrict its connection only to the floo in the Minister's office at the Ministry. Green light followed as a colleague created a tracer that would alert the Aurors to any attempt to access the Prime Minister's office from any other floo and trace the location from which the attempt was made.
When all were satisfied that the floo was now protected against unauthorized visits to the Prime Minister by anyone not dispatched from the Ministry of Magic itself, the team took a final look at the muggle curiosities. The wizard who'd been shooed out of the Prime Minister's chair was a bit reluctant to wander, but the others in the group inspected the pictures and paintings on the wall.
"None of them move!" someone whispered.
"Muggle paintings and photographs don't move. They have moving pictures but they need their muggle technology to make them move. The ones that hang on the walls like this are still," the senior Auror explained. He was as fascinated as the others by the immobile images, but at least he'd been briefed on this.
Finally, to Entwhistle's great relief, the little group returned to the fireplace. With nods to their junior member who seemed quite at ease in this strange environment, they each fished a handful of powder from a pocket of their robes, and stepped into the floo to go back to the Ministry of Magic. When the last of them had vanished in the swoosh of green flames, the young man spelled his robes back to a muggle suit, and checked that all traces of his fellow Ministry colleagues had left with them. When he was satisfied that there was no evidence of the visit that had just occurred, he let himself out of the office and returned to his desk, blending into the flurry of activity in the outer office.
The muggle staff was very busy, whispering urgently among themselves, all looking very uneasy about the task to which they'd been set, organizing the military fo an assault on an ancient castle in a remote section of Scotland. Martin hoped, to the very bottom of his heart, that Harry Potter and Professor Dumbledore were able to sway the Prime Minister. He could not imagine that the muggles would attack Hogwarts!
About a half an hour after Martin had let himself out of the Prime Minister's office, a discreet light on his desk lit up. The Prime Minister was back, and summoning his Senior Assistant. With a deep breath, and a silent prayer that the visit to Hogwarts had its desired outcome, Entwhistle stood, gathered a pad and pen, and reentered the office.
"Sir?" he inquired as he opened the door.
"A most shocking and interesting evening, Mr. Entwhistle. Close the door, and have a seat," the Prime Minister replied, pointing to one of the seats across his vast desk.
Entwhistle was frequently in that seat, taking instructions for any number of projects that he handled, but this particular interview was like none he'd ever had before.
"I still can't believe what I just saw. If it wasn't for this," the Prime Minister said, holding up a butterbeer bottlecap in a slightly shaking hand, "I'm not sure I'd believe that I hadn't overindulged in the wine at that infernal dinner. Knowing that magic exists is one thing; seeing it in person is something else. Did you attend school at Hogwarts, Mr. Entwhistle?" he asked, slightly redirecting his thoughts.
"Yes, sir. I started there when I was eleven, that's when you can first attend. I was there for seven years. It's quite a place, isn't it?" the younger man replied.
The Prime Minister shook his head. "Amazing. I met a few ghosts. I saw staircases moving, and oil paintings spoke to me. I saw people flying in the air on brooms. It wasn't a trick, was it?"
"No, sir. It's magic, and not even the most of it," his assistant answered. "The castle has as much magic in it as any building in Britain, probably even more than the Ministry of Magic itself. The castle has been the home of the Hogwarts School for over a thousand years, so it's had longer to soak it all in. All the people up there are witches and wizards – the headmaster, the professors, the students. Did you meet Professor Dumbledore? And Harry Potter?"
"Yes, I did. The headmaster – well, I've never in all my years encountered anyone quite like him. And young Potter – he's just like my nephew Stephen. Same age, I imagine. Same shaggy hair, same sweater and jeans and trainers. He said he grew up in Little Whinging – a friend of mine from school was from there."
Entwhistle suspected that the visit had been a success; he could not image them having this conversation if the plans to attack the school were still on. He wasn't entirely sure how a Senior Assistant to the Prime Minister was expected to handle this, but clearly at this point, the Prime Minister knew that he had another employer and accountabilities.
"Sir, are we still preparing to attack Hogwarts? Or have you concluded that the people in the school are not our enemies?" he asked very quietly.
The Prime Minister took a deep breath. "No, we will not be attacking the castle. I had no idea it was really a school. I remember thinking, as Fudge was sitting here speaking to me, that I would not believe the perfidy of magical people if I wasn't hearing it from the man I knew was their Minister. Now I have learned that I should have trusted my instincts and not believed it, as Fudge isn't the Minister any longer. Please arrange a call with the leaders of the Army and Navy in five minutes so I can call off this attack."
Almost by accident, the Prime Minister's eyes gazed over at the massive fireplace that dominated one wall of the room of his office. That triggered a very uncomfortable thought. "I'm safe from Fudge in here, am I not? Can he just come back here through the fireplace again?"
Entwhistle had already gathered his papers and stood to return to his desk outside. "No, sir, he will not be able to enter your office from the floo, that is, the fireplace. We've installed some charms that restrict this fireplace's connections to the Minister of Magic's office, no one else can access this office through the floo network. We've also put some tracers on your fireplace – if Fudge or anyone else tries to access your office, we'll know. We ought to be able to determine where he came from on his way here and where he went once he could not get in."
Almost as if on cue, there was a swooshing noise from the fireplace. Instead of the usual green flames that signaled the floo in operation, the flames were bright orange. The Prime Minister recoiled, fear clear on his face.
Entwhistle stepped closer to the fireplace, putting himself between the Prime Minister's desk and the fireplace. "The orange flame indicates that someone is trying to use the floo to come here from a floo connection that's not the Minister of Magic's office – someone arriving from her office will still arrive with green flames."
He extracted his wand from its holster on his arm, knowing in his mind that the charms and tracers on this floo will absolutely prevent anyone from actually entering the Prime Minister's office from the floo, but feeling oh-so-much safer with his wand handy. The Prime Minister saw the wand, and seemed comforted himself knowing that an armed wizard was there to defend him.
After just a moment, Fudge's face appeared briefly in the fireplace. It was interesting to watch him react to the fact that his attempt to enter the Prime Minister's office was being blocked by the charm just applied by the Ministry of Magic. He was initially perplexed, assuming from his earlier arrivals that this was a completely open floo.
Then he spotted Entwhistle. While the young man looked just like any of the dozens of functionaries who surrounded the Prime Minister, the fact that this young man was so clearly focused on the fireplace, and of course that he had a wand in his hand in a classic defensive pose, made it clear – this was a wizard, probably an Auror. Suddenly, Fudge understood that his ruse had been exposed, and his face distorted in rage.
He could not communicate with the occupants of the Prime Minister's office – that was blocked – but it was clear that he was angry and yelling as his face faded back into the orange flames, and they flickered out.
"The floo wouldn't let him in. We'll hope the Ministry of Magic was able to trace him to someplace and capture him. Let me get your call with the military leaders arranged, sir. That really can't wait," Entwhistle said as he redeposited his wand into its holster and let himself out of the office.
For his part, Cornelius could not believe he'd gotten so close to having the muggles attack Hogwarts, and could not fathom the bad fortune that caused his plan to unravel at this time.
He'd used the floo in a less crowded pub off of Knockturn Alley, down one of the numerous tiny alleys that crisscrossed the magical community in an unplottable part of London itself. This place looked as shady as its larger cousins on Knockturn Alley itself, but its location apparently assured that it drew a much smaller number of the bottom-dwellers of the wizarding world, and at least none Fudge recognized as felons on the lam from the Aurors.
Fudge never expected to be back there so quickly. He felt the wards blocking the floo at Downing Street as soon as he neared it, and was surprised at the strength by which he was not just prevented from stepping though, but actively repelled and sent back to his point of origin. That made him suspect that someone had done something more than just block the floo – it was entirely possible, maybe probable, that there was a tracer in place.
Better safe than sorry. As soon as Fudge was back in the fireplace at the seedy little pub, he apparated. Who knew how quickly the Ministry could trace him? Maybe that wizened old man tending bar here was actually a 30-year old Auror just waiting to pounce on him. Maybe one of the patrons, especially that old woman he'd seen sitting at a small table with a very large whiskey on it, who kept talking to herself, was really an agent of the Ministry. He wasn't in the mood to find out.
Having to act quickly meant not taking time to think, so Cornelius returned to the public floo near the muggle's Covent Garden, where he'd gone for dinner earlier that evening. It was literally the first one that came to mind. He spelled his robe into a muggle suit to blend in with the milling throng as he sought out a crowded muggle pub. Finding one that was crowded but not too noisy, he selected a table in the rear. Ordering a large whiskey himself, he sighed deeply. He wasn't going to drown his sorrows. He was going to find the next step forward from this minor setback. His goal was not to have the muggles attack Hogwarts, after all. His goal was to be returned to his rightful place as Minister of Magic. There were other paths to that objective. There had to be. He just needed a little time to think and find those other paths.
As Cornelius was sipping his way through his whiskey in the muggle pub, a small team of Aurors had entered the seedy pub off Knockturn Alley, having traced Fudge to this floo connection. The bartender professed to have no memory of anyone coming in to use the floo, and most of the presumed regulars also seemed not to remember anything. The one exception was a rheumy-eyed old woman who clearly remembered a dashing young man who flirted shamelessly with her before excusing himself. She reported he'd gone to the back of the pub, but he'd not returned.
The Aurors really did not believe her, but duty demanded that they check the back of the pub. There was no one back there now, and a careful check of the floo indicated that it had, indeed, been used a couple of times that evening. They assumed the former Minister had used it to travel from here to some other place, but without a tracer, or someone who had heard where he was going, that was a dead end.
They didn't notice, not that it would have helped their cause, that there was a slight trace of the residual magic of apparation in the room with the fireplace. By whatever means, Fudge had eluded capture.
While the Aurors were looking for Cornelius in various magical places to which they thought he might have traveled via floo, the man himself was sipping his second whiskey in a pub in muggle London, hiding in plain sight as it were. And thinking. And reading a muggle newspaper he'd found on a chair in the back of the pub.
There was an article in there about the growing militancy of the anti-magic movement in Britain. While their elected leaders might not be willing to take strong action against witches and wizards, or their strongholds, maybe this lot would be susceptible to his encouragement. He idly scratched his chin as he mulled this over.
He'd been following some of these events from his little flat in Abbeville, but this article suggested that the isolated groups that had been meeting across the country were now beginning to connect with each other. A very positive development, from his perspective. But how could he connect with them? What was the best way to approach one of these grassroots organizations in a way that would enable Cornelius to help shape their direction and strategy? Did he know anyone who might be connected to any of this, or who might know someone involved and who could make an introduction?
Cornelius reflected bitterly for just a second that, back when the world was in its proper order and he was Minister of Magic, this was just the sort of thing that an owl dispatched to Lucius Malfoy could resolve in an instant. He always knew someone, always could make an introduction. No longer. Cornelius was on his own, and he was momentarily very glum.
As he put the newspaper aside and traced his finger over some unevenness in the wood of the table, he could hear a muggle device, the television, chattering on from where the muggles had bolted it to the ceiling over the bar. No one seemed to pay it any attention, making him wonder why they went to the trouble to have one in the first place. His hearing picked up what the muggle speaking through the device was saying – something about a political event going on in Surrey.
Surrey. He'd heard of Surrey before. Why?
It did not come to him immediately, but a few seconds later, Cornelius' entire face brightened. He remembered why he'd heard of Surrey.
Over a year ago, one of his own highly-confidential sources had approached him about some records she'd located in the muggle primary school to which Harry Potter had gone before he was old enough to attend Hogwarts. What caught the source's attention was the fact that some residual magic was attached to one of the files. Further inspection revealed that these records reported that the savior of the Light, Harry Potter, had disclosed to a school nurse that his uncle had smacked him, by way of explaining the broken nose and black eye he sported to school that morning.
It took just a little more checking of files in that school to determine that the boy often arrived at school battered and bruised, but none of the injuries – which included things that looked like broken bones as well as significant soft tissue injuries - lasted more than a day or two. Notes indicated that the school authorities had begun to agree that Potter was exactly what the files recorded that his relatives said he was: an attention-seeking, malingering, lying, no-good troublemaker. No one at the school realized that Harry had magic to help him heal, explaining his remarkable and speedy recoveries.
After the first year at school, the boy no longer mentioned his relatives when any concern was expressed about an injury he sported. He fell down a flight of stairs, or slipped on some leaves on the sidewalk. Some of this might well have been the boy's own efforts at self-preservation at home, but no muggle would ever see a pattern. Magic confunded them whenever they looked at Harry's records. That magic was what drew Cornelius's source's attention, but once she saw the files, she realized that the old confundus charm had become weak and was easily overcome.
Harry Potter's relatives lived in Surrey, in the town of Little Whinging. Cornelius remembered now – Vernon and Petunia Dursley were the names of the uncle and aunt who raised him. Cornelius wasn't entirely certain about the aunt's true feelings – her husband might just as easily have bullied her as he did the boy. Probably best to steer clear of her, just in case.
But there was no question about the uncle. Vernon was abusive to the boy, sufficiently so that Cornelius was confident of his ability to have the man disqualified as a suitable guardian to a magical child, which paved the way to his own plan to adopt Harry Potter. It was very probable, from what Cornelius' sources learned, that the man hated magic at least as much as he hated Harry. If the past was any indication of what was likely to be the current state of things, Harry's uncle either knew of, or was active in, one of those anti-magic groups. Vernon Dursley. He'd have to look the gentleman up.
A man with a much lighter step and happier disposition than he'd had when he arrived left the pub a short while later. The bartender no doubt attributed it to the effect of a couple of glasses of his finest whiskey, but that had nothing to do with this. Cornelius, once again, had a plan. He'd return to Abbeville tonight and begin to fine-tune it. He'd be back.
X X X X X X X X X X
Back in Hogwarts, the Headmaster had beamed at Harry and Severus after they bid the Minister of Magic and Prime Minister good evening.
"I think that went very well indeed, my boys! Thank you, Kingsley, for the use of your office. I didn't think our guest could manage the climb back to my office."
"The Prime Minister did, indeed seem a bit short of breath by the time you and he arrived here," Severus agreed. "Is he well?"
Harry was perched on the arm of the chair in which Severus was now sitting, and he smiled at his bondmate, and then at the others. "I think he's a typical muggle – not in great physical condition, and he's getting on in years, for a muggle. They aren't used to all the stairs here, in particular. The muggles have escalators, moving stairs, or elevators. They would never live in a place like this if they had to walk up and down all day."
Albus perked up at the mention of moving stairs. "Really, Harry – the moving staircases here always astonish our guests who are new to magic, muggle-born first years, or the people we had staying here this summer. It never occurred to me that they have moving stairs, too, the way they react!"
Harry chuckled. "No, their moving stairs are very different from what we have here. They stand on one step and it moves them up to the top or bottom of the staircase. The staircase itself stays in one place and the steps all move together in one direction. The muggles don't have anything where staircases themselves shift around like we have."
Both Kingsley and Severus watched this exchange with interest. They each had enough contact with the muggle world to have had experience with escalators, and were a bit surprised at this evidence of just how little experience the Headmaster had with it.
The conversation about out-of-shape muggles and moving stairs was just a diversion from the undercurrent of worry shared by all the wizards in the room: had they really persuaded the muggle Prime Minister to call off the troops planning to attack Hogwarts? Their physical safety in the castle wasn't an issue, but this represented such a massive step backwards, back to days when wizards weren't safe mingling with muggles because suspicions and hostilities were such an ever-present risk.
Harry might have once assumed that magical people could apparate away from risk, or take port keys, or cast disillusionment charms. But he'd learned this past year how many magical people could actually not do any of those things. They could do some magic, maybe just enough to make some aspect of their lives easier. But in doing whatever magic they could do, they revealed themselves to others as having some magic. Their very limited magical strength left them hugely vulnerable to attack by muggles, because most of them could not actually protect themselves.
The tension was broken when a parchment popped onto Kingsley's desk.
Auror Entwhistle had arranged for the call among the Prime Minister and the heads of his Army and Navy, and confirmed that the order had been given to stand down. Then he cancelled the request for a meeting with the Queen at Balmoral the next day, and only then was he completely confident that the battle plans were scuttled. He so advised the Ministry in a carefully penned note on a scrap of muggle paper. He folded his note into a small pouch into which he placed a butterbeer cap. Sliding his arm over the note, he slid his wand out just enough to touch the paper over the butterbeer cap, activating the portkey. The note disappeared from his desk, and copies appeared seconds later on the Minister's desk, and at Kingsley's office.
Kingsley quickly unfolded the cheap muggle paper, and smiled as he read aloud, "The muggle plans to attack Hogwarts have been cancelled."
Harry sagged perceptibly, and Severus eyed him with concern, until he realized that it was quite late, probably after midnight. It had been a horrifically long day, it seemed, with tremendous tension these last few hours. But now they had the relief of a good outcome.
"Headmaster, Shacklebolt, if you'll excuse us, it's been a long day," Severus said as he stood and put a protective arm around Harry's shoulders, helping him up from his perch on the arm of the chair. "Harry, you look exhausted. I'll not be carrying you back down to the dungeons, so it's best we proceed there now while you are still able to make it under your own power."
Harry smiled wanly at Severus, thankful for the attempt at humor and for the excuse to leave Kingsley's office. He's apparently been operating on adrenaline, and with the welcome news that the plans for attack were off, a very profound weariness overtook him. He waved his goodbye to the two older men as his bondmate gently guided him out of the door, and down the long stairway to their home in the dungeons.
X X X X X X X X X X
In Abbeville, Cornelius Fudge was now experiencing his own surge of adrenaline, and rather than even attempt to sleep, he'd pulled out the box that contained every scrap of parchment he had assembled that provided any information about Harry Potter's family from Surrey. He'd had quite a bit of research done about the family last year, in particular, when he wanted an excuse to adopt Harry and get him away from Dumbledore's influence, which of course all went to naught when the old codger got him married off the Severus Snape of all people right before he came to claim the boy himself. Aside from accepting the assurances of his people that he had grounds to disqualify the family and adopt Harry himself, Cornelius had never actually bothered to read the reports and documents himself. He was now eternally grateful to whatever drove him to collect all this information together and deposit the box of it here in Abbeville.
Cornelius had found it rather difficult to adjust to some of the "conveniences" of muggle life when he took up residence in his Abbeville flat. He was especially uncomfortable with the way they lit their rooms after dark. He'd always used candles, and had found the unnaturally bright lights those glass bulbs threw off very uncomfortable. Tonight, the brightness enabled him to work for many hours into the night, capturing every little detail he could about this man in Surrey who he hoped would be his entrée to the growing anti-wizard movement in Britain.
X X X X X X X X X X
Harry was quietly amazed how calm the world was on a day that could have featured total havoc. He'd awoken at his usual time the next morning, and joined Severus in a companionable walk to the Great Hall, taking a seat with his friends at the Gryffindor table for breakfast. No sounds of battle, no fears of a battle soon to be waged. Even the ravens were quiet today.
Everything was so . . so normal! Granted a slightly new normal, in that Draco was sitting today with them, but that had gone on at times almost all last year. Hermione had a stack of parchment spread on the table near her plate, and was writing or editing something or other, Ron was working his way through a plate filled to the brim, and actually overflowing in a few places, with toast and eggs and meat and potatoes. Seamus was regaling everyone with a story about some escapade from his past, apparently involving the ingestion of way too much liquor, and the others were listening raptly and laughing frequently.
Neville deflated most of the enthusiastic chatter when he observed into a lull in the conversations as the meal was winding down, "Today's the day we'd've been taking the Hogwarts Express back to the castle, you know. Hard to believe that summer's over already."
Ron's face fell as he finished up the plate of food before him; his appetite wasn't impacted by the reminder, but his spirits clearly were. The others were a bit more reflective about this. They'd been here all summer, the ones at breakfast this morning, and they'd been hounded by Hermione and a few of the other rising seventh years to get their summer essays finished, so the start of classes would not represent a totally new way to spend their days. But, still . . .
Seamus perked up at the news. "So, who do we have coming back?" he asked. Ever the social creature, this meant that a few of his missing friends would soon be joining him. His card game improved when he didn't play constantly against the same people, as well.
Draco rubbed his chin as he considered the matter. "Actually, it seemed like most of Gryffindor was here all summer." As he looked around the group of almost-seventh years with whom he was sitting, he figured this group was complete right now. No one was missing. "I think that there are quite a few Ravenclaws coming in, assuming of course that they are returning. A few Hufflepuffs, not too many from our year. And Slytherins. Hard to tell if the ones who left will be back at all."
There was a flatness in Draco's voice with that last statement. It was definitely possible that many of the Slytherins who left last year would be supporting Voldemort; their families were certainly among his most ardent adherents. Would he have to face them in any battles? Kill them, even? At least a few of them he regarded as friends, not just family allies. Draco regretted that they'd chosen poorly. He had grown ever more confident over the last few months that he'd sided with the winning side in aligning with Potter.
Hermione sensed the sadness threatening to overtake the group, and interceded.
"We've all completed our summer assignments, although I still need to review Neville's charms essay," she began, as Neville blushed slightly. "We've got one final day to enjoy the castle, and it looks like a beautiful day. If things were normal, we'd be stuck on the train for hours, so take advantage. Then we have the feast to look forward to tonight."
Before everyone could leave, Ginny Weasley shared something she'd overheard from a friend in Ravenclaw. "I don't think they are using the train this year. Everyone is coming in by portkey. The Ministry felt it could not guarantee the safety of the train moving through open areas as it does."
That brought Harry back a bit, remembering his own encounter with dementors a few years ago on the train. If the Ministry was willing to allow the train to run that year, with dementors on the loose, how must things be now? Of course, that was the Ministry under Cornelius Fudge, and as of yesterday, it was actually possible that a full-blown battle would be raging out on the lawn, at least past the wards. Harry had to agree with the Ministry on this – better safe than sorry. He felt a pang of pity for muggle-born first-years. The train was certainly less frightening than taking a portkey, and they'd miss out on that wonderful moment when they'd first see the castle looming over the lake as they took boats from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts. He stood and joined the others as the filed out of the Great Hall to enjoy their last day of freedom at Hogwarts.
Up at the Head Table, Albus had shared the news of the altered arrival plans with his staff, none of whom looked too happy at the change of plans.
"But, Headmaster, most people, children in particular, become violently nauseous the first time they use a portkey. It's almost as bad as side-along apparition, for Merlin's sake," Madam Pomfrey scolded. She looked imploringly at Severus. "We've nowhere near the quantity of anti-nausea potion we'll be needing today."
Severus scowled. His last day of freedom (professors looked at this in a surprisingly similar manner to their students), and he'd planned to do some more testing of materials from the Winter Lands. Who knew when he'd next have the chance to do that? Apparently, he wasn't going to have that chance today. With his scowl firmly fixed on his face, he growled "At least that potion brews up quickly. I should be able to provide adequate doses by mid afternoon."
That earned him a twinkling smile from Albus and a squeeze to the arm from Poppy. He sulked off, just as the students were tripping over themselves to get outside on their last day of freedom.
X X X X X X X X X X
In Abbeville, Cornelius had fallen asleep just as the sun crept over the horizon. He'd spent the entire night reading all the information his various sources had pulled together about this Vernon Dursley.
Quite a despicable individual. He'd actually spent a moment wondering why on earth Dumbledore had ever considered allowing such awful people to assume the guardianship of his precious prince. Even if he'd not been able to predict the man's less attractive tendencies in advance, he must have known what was going on once the boy came to Hogwarts, and yet he returned him to that house, year after year. There must be something more to this.
It wasn't relevant to Cornelius' objective of recovering his position at the Ministry of Magic, so he wasted just that moment on the matter. He was rather surprised with the amount of information he'd found in a file ostensibly about the man and his wife in their role as guardians, about the man's business.
Cornelius had an address, in the same village as the home, but clearly an office. He knew the name of the firm, and had a general idea about what they did. He had a vague sense of what the man did for the firm. He had the name of the businessmen's club to which the man belonged, and where he assumed he took his lunch. He even had the name of the man's favored haberdashery.
But Cornelius had been in the working world long enough to know that he had truly hit the jackpot when he found the name of the man's assistant. Some of Cornelius' most spectacular accomplishments in his brief business career, and in his later and much longer political career were achieved through the careful cultivation of assistants and secretaries, the people who controlled access to the persons he needed to see. Of course, a little Imperius spell now and then dealt with the more difficult ones, but it was almost a game for Cornelius to see how far his charm could get him. He needed to use Imperius far less than might have been expected to still enjoy exactly the access, or the information, he required.
Millicent Enderlee was Cornelius' kind of lady. She wasn't going to stand a chance.