Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Back to Hogwarts
How Far has Our Ministry Fallen?
By Rita Skeeter
The terror witnessed at the quidditch world cup served as the breaking point for what many have quietly speculated about for years. How weakened; how corrupt has our ministry become? Short-sighted ministry officials failed to protect our citizens, children, and foreign guests at what should have been an event of wizardly brotherhood between our nation and Bulgaria through friendly competition. Now, we can only assume what the Bulgarian ministry and their citizens think of the magical British community after being accosted by fear mongers reveling in the dark times of our past and being confronted by the infamous and horrifying sight of You-Know-Who's dark mark returned.
In the days following the world cup, the ministry has scarcely shared any information with the public as they try to clean up after their latest blunder. Or should I say, cover up their latest example of ineptitude? My dear readers, let us recount the bumbling failures of our overseeing governmental body. Let us begin with the unforgettable and deplorable case of Lord Sirius Black.
It was not long ago that the esteemed lord was rotting away in a cell in Azkaban. Suffering in agony with the knowledge that he was an innocent man whom no one believed. How did a guiltless lord, a man hailing from the sacred twenty-eight, land in the formidable prison, you may ask? Well, Lord Black was never allowed to participate in a due process of law. Without a trial, Lord Black was stripped of his voice entirely. The ministry has yet to seek atonement for the years Lord Black had to endure while under the ministry's custody. Lord Black was contacted to ask if he had a comment about the ministry's failings. But, alas, since his release, Lord Black has fully committed himself to selflessly raising his beloved and tragically orphaned godson, the famed Harry Potter. As such, Lord Black simply did not have the time to talk. Or is it something else? Is Lord Black afraid? Afraid to stand up to a higher power who so heartlessly condemned him? I'll leave you, dear readers, to draw your own conclusions.
For we must be moving on to the next example of our lacking government; the escape of mouse man and muggle murderer Peter Pettigrew, and the criminally insane Gilderoy Lockhart. Many of you will remember the manhunt for the two dangerous wizards. One that is still ongoing. Wanted posters for Pettigrew and Lockhart have littered every magical community in the United Kingdom. There have even been sightings of Lockhart. And still, the two roam freely. We have not even once been provided with an update of their whereabouts from law enforcement. I wish there was more to report on this concerning matter. However, there simply hasn't been a substantial amount of information released to the public. A fact that is equally damning to the ministry's incompetence as is Lockhart and Pettigrew still being on the loose.
Lastly, let us turn to the latest example of how our government has failed us; the Crouch family scandal. For decades families rest assured that they were safe under the guiding hand of the honorable Bartemius Crouch, head of the department of magical law enforcement. After all, he sentenced his own son to a life in Azkaban after learning of his dealing in the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom. His son, Bartemius Crouch Junior, died behind Azkaban's walls. Or so the world assumed.
While the ministry failed to prevent the attack at the quidditch world cup, a mysterious man, hidden by an invisibility cloak and accompanied by Crouch's house-elf, cast the dark mark high in the sky for all to see.
In a short-lived moment of being on point, ministry officials immediately apparated to the scene of the crime. However, that is where their competency ended. The officials surrounded the wrong person. Or people, as I should say; seven Hogwarts students in total. All were under the age of seventeen. The officials unleashed stunning spells on the children and accused them of being the culprits behind the dark mark. Even though one of the children was none other than Harry Potter!
Most assuredly, the mysterious man would have gotten away as the ministry placed blame on innocent, terrified schoolchildren. But worry not, my dear readers. For a hero did step forward. However, this hero was not affiliated with the ministry. Adrian Pucey, a boy of sixteen, left his friends after fleeing the attack to find help. But instead of help, he found our mysterious man just in time to witness him cast the dark mark. Reacting quickly, Pucey stunned the man and was able to turn him in.
And just who was this mysterious man, you may be asking? It was none other than Bartemius Crouch Junior! Not dead at all. When confronted with the sight of his very much alive son, Crouch Senior confessed. He smuggled his son out of Azkaban. He had been harboring the convict from justice all these years.
These shocking reveals have left our world in apprehensive dread and rightfully so. Who can we trust if not our leaders? Are all of them as corrupt as Crouch Senior? Time will tell as the story unfolds. And as for the Crouch family, father and son are now sharing a cell in Azkaban. Crouch junior; returned to his rightful place. While Crouch Senior awaits trial. No words yet from the ministry on how they are handling this blatant abuse of power, or who will be appointed as the new head of the department of magical law enforcement. But then again, can we trust anything the ministry has to say?
Despite deserving a rest, Dad was more occupied with work than ever before. Even though the misuse of muggle artifacts department had little to do with those affected by the attack at the world cup or Crouch's crime… Well, except for the muggles who fell victim to the death eaters.
We barely saw Dad in the days that followed. He came home after we'd gone to bed and left first thing as soon as he finished breakfast. Dad was even missing UP meetings as the ministry took up all his time; trusting Mum and his three eldest to keep him up to date on all of Lord Flint's lofty plans.
Percy was in a slightly similar boat as he spent long days working under Lord Flint. "Marius, he told me to call him that you know, said now is the time to strike. To really gain a steady footing", Percy said over dinner.
"The Flint law firm was asked to defend Crouch at his trial. But Marius refused", Percy said over breakfast. "Said he wouldn't represent someone who had no respect for the law. Privately, of course, Marius also told Marcus and me that such a client would reflect poorly on the United Party when the time comes".
Their burdening work days (although Percy wasn't complaining) carried to September 1st. Mum had never been so stressed as she ran to and fro trying to get all five of us ready for the start of term. Six if we included Hermione.
Bill and Charlie were still on holiday. So, they were able to help. But mostly with transportation to King's cross. Making sure we returned to school with the correct school supplies, uniforms that fit, and enough pairs of matching socks fell solely on Mum's shoulders. Or at least, that was how she was behaving.
However, we managed. And after a rushed and frustrating early start, everyone still attending school was boarded on the Hogwarts express. In different compartments, Ginny sat with her friends. Ron with his. And me with the other officers of YUP. Barring Cedric who had prefect duties.
Technically, Fred and George were occupying the same compartment as me, Zabini, and Neville. Meaning their trunks were in the overhead racks. But they were currently elsewhere with Lee doing Merlin knows what.
Rain splattered against our compartment window as the train chugged along. "How soon should we hold elections for the house representatives?" Zabini asked without looking up from the minutes he was taking.
Humming to help myself think, I slowly raised my eyes away from the treasury report Cedric made sure we had before he was needed in the prefects' car. "Let's hold off for a few weeks. Let People settle and see if anyone new joins our club. That way they can vote too. Montague, Patil, and Finch-Fletchley can act as representatives for that time".
"I can – I can do that for Gryffindor too", Neville piped up in a voice that was stronger than how he'd spoken last year. "Until the elections".
"Thank you, Neville", I said with a small smile as Zabini jotted down our plan of action. Because Merlin knows I definitely did not want people coming to me with their grievances. "What else do we need to talk about?"
There was a brief moment where the only sounds were that of the train and the raging storm happening outside as Zabini read over the minutes. "Professor Flitwick has agreed to be club advisor for another year", Zabini confirmed. "A date for the first meeting of the new term is decided. However, we need to spread the word. The last thing on our agenda is to discuss event ideas for-"
The compartment door was slammed open; rattling the glass windows. Zabini adopted a confronted expression as three bodies forced their way into a space that was already limited. Quickly, I drew my knees up to my chest to spare my feet from being stepped on. Neville wasn't so lucky if the yelp that came from his mouth was anything to go by. No one said anything until the compartment door was closed once more and three faces
"We've been in here since the train left the station", Fred said very convincingly. Using the tried and true method of gaining allies to back up an alibi.
Zabini scowled as he and his eyes darkened; ready to make my brothers and Lee no promises about lying for them. "Why?" I asked eagerly. Sounding more enthused than I had been since this meeting started. "What did you guys do?"
Neither Fred, George, nor Lee had to answer. A whizzing whirling sound zoomed down the train car's aisle way. After a few seconds later there was a loud bang and green and red sparks flew past our compartment like a swarm of multi-colored fireflies. Immediately afterward, we could hear students from other compartments ask each other, "What was that?"
As Neville gawked at the three sixth years, Zabini stared at them through squinted eyes; drawing further opinions about average Gryffindor behavior. My response probably wasn't helping to break the stereotype. "You set off fireworks on the train without me?"
"Isn't that dangerous?" Neville asked as his eyes flickered to the compartment door with some sort of undecided intention.
"No", George assured him. "It was a Filibuster's Fabulous No-Heat, Wet-start firework. Those can't do any damage". Well… except if you were intentionally trying. Then someone is going to figure out how to weaponize them.
"And that makes it alright, does it?" Zabini asked. His voice came out low and distrusting.
Lee flapped a hand at him. "It was an accident".
Zabini raised a poised eyebrow of disbelief as George sat down next to me; squishing me between him and Zabini. While Fred and Lee joined Neville on his side of the compartment. "An accident? It's impossible to accidentally shoot off a firework" Zabini stated. Or the person with the firework had to be unbelievably stupid to let one off without attending too. But that was left unsaid.
"Oh, contraire", Fred disagreed. "It was an accident".
"At least the one that went off in this car was", George added.
"The poor sod forgot he was holding it", Lee said; grinning unabashedly.
"But don't ask us who set it off", Fred continued.
"Because we don't know", said George.
"How could we?" Fred said; setting himself up for the last line. "Seeing how we've been in here with you lot this whole time".
The compartment door slid open a second time. Although, with a lot less force than before. Using one hand to keep the door open, Adrian took up the space under the door frame. A wet sooty substance splattered his clothes. It was most noticeable where it was staining his white shirt collar. The substance was smeared on his face; over the bridge of his nose, tracing his cheekbones, under his eyes, and sweeping across his forehead. Adrian's hair was the same color as soot, so I couldn't see if that had been affected as well. But given the state of the rest of him, it's safe to assume nothing was spared.
Adrian's grey eyes darkened considerably as he scowled into our compartment. I pressed my lips together so hard they started to hurt as my shoulders shook. "Just because you created a distraction doesn't mean we didn't see who lobbed those fireworks into the prefects' car", Adrian glowered; directing his words at three specific people.
I lost my battle to keep quiet. It started with a gasp of air before laughter came bubbling out of me. Leaning into George for support, I tried to reel it in as Zabini inched as far away from me as he could; looking very much like he was considering the pros and cons of exiting the compartment by climbing out the window.
"It wasn't us", Fred said as George patted me on the back. Both were fighting and failing to keep their faces straight. Lee didn't even bother to try; showing Adrian the full strength of his unrepentant smile.
"We've been here since we left King's Cross", George continued as he forgoes patting my back to rub circles instead. It wasn't working. My eyes were watering as peals and peals of laughter consecutively escaped me.
"Great idea though", Lee said, snickering as my laughing caused a contagious effect. Well, for some. Poor Neville kept glancing around the compartment like he couldn't decide how he should be reacting. Or if anyone needed him to do anything. While Zabini obviously wanted to be somewhere else right about now. "Shame we didn't think of it".
I had been laughing long enough that I was becoming breathless and my chest ached. Adrian's… Adrian's face… It looked like a kid who used floo powder independently for the first time.
Adrian was seething at this point. And the vein in his temple was throbbing. He enunciated his every word slowly and clearly. "We. Saw. You!" It only made me laugh harder.
It was a stormy, gloomy, and wet carriage ride up to the castle. The older years stay dry by using our wands to repel water in the magical version of umbrellas. While the younger years were drenched. I'd hate to be a first-year traveling across the lake in this weather. But no matter our level of magical competency, there was little we could do to spare our shoes. The mud became caked to the bottom of our school shoes and the entrance hall turned into a badly designed slip and slide as everyone fought to keep their feet under them.
The only one who did not seem to be having any difficulty was Snape, McGonagall's new deputy head. He stood in front of the grand staircase; barking orders and snarling at any unfortunate soul who dared to be clumsy in his presence. "Longbottom", Snape growled when Neville face-planted on his way into the great hall. "I know it will be difficult for you. But try to at least make it through the welcome feast without making a mockery of yourself".
"Yikes", muttered Fred as Dean Thomas, and Seamus Finnigan helped Neville find his feet. "Imagine being a first-year, and the first teacher you meet is Snape." Choosing our steps carefully to avoid the more slick spots on the floor, us triplets and Lee made our way towards Gryffindor table. The floating candles and general atmosphere were as enchanting as ever. But with the storm raging outside and the thunder and lightning being reflected on the ceiling, some of the hall's comforting atmosphere was depleted. It felt more like entering a haunted mansion than a magical castle. "What was McGonagall thinking, making Snape deputy head?"
"Do you think he'll be in charge of the sorting?" I asked as we took our seats; already warming up thanks to the blazing fireplaces in the great hall.
Lee sniggered as he sat across from us triplets. "That'll be a sight to see. Imagine, Snape sneering down his nose as he reads off the names of every first-year". Across the hall, I caught sight of Adrian, looking cleaned-up, sitting down next to Montague. He was doing his best to not look in my direction. Having not fully forgiven me for not taking his side on the train. But I have faith he'll be over it in time for classes tomorrow morning.
On the raised dais where the teachers' table was located, McGonagall sat in the center in a throne-like chair. That paired with the feather and point of her witch's hat, would make her seem very regal as she oversaw the students filing into the room like she was waiting to hold court. However, in this particular moment, McGonagall looked more like a grandparent whose patience was being tested as she tried to wrangle her grandchildren into compliance. On her left sat Lupin and Sirius. Sirius appeared to be the instigator as he was talking very animatedly; poking and prodding Lupin into responding to him. Lupin seemed to be trying his best to keep up appearances, but whatever Sirius was saying must truly be provocative, because the werewolf teacher kept making double takes and engaging his best friend with a certain level of fond reluctance. McGonagall kept shushing Sirius and frowning. Even though only those at the teachers' table could hear what was going on. Further down the table sat Flitwick; chuckling to himself as he watched like the favorite uncle who was never much help when it came to parenting. This must be weird for McGonagall. I mean, I imagine it was weird for Dumbledore too, when he was in her shoes. But here she was, with colleagues that used to be under her charge when they were students. Did that familiarity make them difficult to work with? Especially when they didn't always behave like they'd fully grown out of their schoolboy ways?
It probably felt longer than it actually was once everyone was seated and we waited on the arrival of the first years. Conversations could be heard from all over the great hall. As was evident by the chattering background noise. It was the usual sort. How was your summer? What did you do? Did you finish your homework? But specific to this year, was the topic, 'Were you at the world cup?'
When the doors opened a second time to allow entry to Snape and the shivering damp first years following behind him, everyone fell silent without having been told. Remembering our own sortings, it wasn't difficult to respect the auspiciousness of this Hogwarts tradition.
As dramatic as ever, once Snape had ascended the few steps of the dais and stood next to where the stool and sorting hat waited; he pivoted around with a flourish of his robes so his back faced the other teachers. He cast a disapproving eye around the hall. Making it so no one dared to so much as cough. Under this demeanor, the sorting hat sang its song. The applause was half-hearted. Not because the song wasn't good. But because Snape's performance made it difficult to respond appropriately.
One by one, in his dark and drawling voice, Snape read off the names of the new students. Stewart Ackerley went to Ravenclaw. Malcolm Baddock went to Slytherin. And on and on it went. Snape maintained a detached air for the most part. The only first year to receive a look of disdain was Collin Creevey's little brother, Dennis. Though that was probably due to the fact that Dennis was wearing Hagrid's coat like a blanket and was dripping lake water.
Kevin Whitby, a newly minted Hufflepuff, was the last to be sorted. As soon as Snape cleared away the sorting hat and stool, the food appeared. Little was said as everyone busied themselves with stuffing roast beef, mashed potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, and the like down our throats. Although, nearly-headless Nick was floating about, trying to pull anyone willing into a dialogue.
Naturally, dessert followed dinner and a whole spread was offered; treacle tart, spotted dick, chocolate gateau. George decided to cut me off when I tried to go for a third helping of chocolate gateau. Git. Once the student body possessed extending bellies and our eyes were drooping with sleepiness, the tables cleared and McGonagall stood. "To the new and to the returning, welcome to Hogwarts. I have a few announcements before we adjourn to our beds.
"Our caretaker, Mr. Filch, would like it made known that screaming yo-yos, fanged frisbees, and ever-bashing boomerangs will no longer be tolerated inside the castle". …Why do I get the feeling she's looking in Fred's, George's, Lee's, and my direction? "The inter-house quidditch matches are suspended for the year".
A murmur of discontent echoed throughout the hall. Harry looked especially disturbed by the announcement as McGonagall's bad news perked him right up. Though, in this order of things, Fred and George had no reaction. Knowing what was coming, this was hardly news to them.
"In its place, Hogwarts will be playing host to the revival of the Triwizard Tournament", McGonagall kept going before she could lose control of the room. "The Triwizard Tournament is a yearlong competition between Europe's most prominent wizarding academic institutions; Hogwarts, Durmstrung, and Beauxbatons. The intention of the event is to foster international cooperation amongst the magically endowed. Due to the dangerous nature of the tournament, it has not been held for a century. Until now, that is to say". The student body was buzzing as people turned and craned their heads to whisper excitedly to their friends.
McGonagall fell silent and refused to give us any more information until she had everyone's full attention once more. "However, I've been assured by the ministry that precautions have been made to ensure the welfare of all participants. As such, participants in the tournament are called champions. One champion will be selected per school. Once selected, the champions will compete in three tasks where they will be required to display their mastery over magic. From those three tasks, only one champion will prevail; winning the Triwizard cup to be displayed at their school, glory and pride to be attached to their name, and a thousand galleon prize". That bit got a louder response than the first part of the announcement.
Knowing the challenge of managing student expectations was becoming harder, McGonagall held up her hands in a nonverbal demand for order. "Students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October with their head teachers. They will be residing with us for the duration of the school year. As hosts, it is my expectation that the students of Hogwarts will present themselves as respectful, pleasant, and curtesy young witches and wizards".
Lee snorted. "She says that like she hasn't taught here for decades".
"On Halloween, the champions for each school will be selected. You'll have until then to decide if you would like to put your name forward for consideration. However, please bare in mind that in order to limit the risk of harm only those who are seventeen years of age or older will be allowed to enter". Immediately following those words, disgruntled complaints could be heard from every corner of the room.
Seeing as there was no stopping it this time around, McGonagall wore her best stern face and kept talking. "Remember, the tasks the champions will face were designed to test their magical prowess. Therefore, a high level of skill and knowledge is a bare minimum requirement for any champion to be successful. Only NEWT level students, and those of age who are able to consent to the potential risk, will be able to handle such challenges". Despite McGonagall's sound reasoning, the disagreement in the hall continued at a low simmer. Some cooled down to the point that they were just disappointed while others were still boiling. "Now, I've kept you long enough. Off to bed".