Chapter 5. Moratorium and Shutdown
"What did he tell you, sir?" asked Edmund as Harry emerged from the interrogation room.
"Later." Harry hurried past Edmund and down the corridor. He waved his wand in the air before entering the lift and shouted, "Expecto Petronum!" A silver stag erupted from the tip of his wand, glided away and disappeared through the wall toward Ron in Diagon Alley.
"Level one, Minister of Magic and Support Staff," a cool female voice called from the lift. The golden grilles slid apart and Harry stepped out. There were many large windows in the hallway, and the pale sunlight from the windows stroked Harry's cheek as he walked through. Ethel, the Minister's Senior Undersecretary, looked up as Harry burst into the staff room.
"Where have you been, Mr. Potter? The Minister has been looking for you all morning."
"Well, here I am and I need to see Hermione right away."
"You're late — she called the reporters into the reception room after they had attempted to break down her office door. . . ."
"This is important, Ethel. I need to meet Hermione face to face."
"But not now," she said firmly. "There must be a lot of cameras at the conference, and you don't want to run into the reception room. . . . Unless you want to get a lot of attention from those reporters."
Having been hounded by the press his entire life, Harry had no choice but to admit that she had a point. "Fine. Then I'll wait for her in the Minister's office. Please tell Hermione there's something urgent as soon as the press conference is over. I've just called Ron and I'd appreciate it if you could take him there."
"Gladly, Mr. Potter."
Ethel escorted Harry to the Minister's office and left him there. The wall of Hermione's office was lined with bookshelves, except for the back of the desk, which had a grandfather clock and a portrait on the wall. As he sat down at the huge mahogany desk, Harry checked the time on the clock in front of him. Even though it was almost noon, he wasn't hungry from the excitement of what he had just learned in the interrogation room. Nobby Leach was dozing as usual in his comfortable chair in the portrait above.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Leach," said Harry politely. Slowly, the figure in the portrait opened one eye, looked down into the office and corrected his posture.
"Harry, it's a pleasure to meet you; I've heard all about you. . . . You can just call me Nobby," said Nobby warmly, wrapping his hands around his bald head. "In case your eyes get dazzled . . ."
"Don't worry, Nobby. I like them bright," Harry said with a grin. "Hermione seems very busy these days, doesn't she?"
"Yes, especially these days." Nobby pointed to the pile of books on the desk. "She's been taking short lessons in Quidditch from me lately."
Harry leaned over and looked at the titles of the books. They were all related to Quidditch, from the very old ones like The Noble Sport of Warlocks to the relatively new Quidditch Through the Ages, which Harry had also read. A sudden feeling of pity for Hermione washed over Harry. As if organizing the World Cup wasn't difficult enough, he had messed things up in Diagon Alley and made life even more difficult for her. . . .
"Nobby, Hermione is softer than she looks. Please take good care of her."
"Of course, Harry. I'll do my best to help," Nobby replied with a bow. Harry felt some of his anger and frustration at Markus subside when he saw the old man's beaming smile.
Having taken note of Markus's comments about Robby Leach, Harry asked, "Hey, Nobby. Do you have any family?"
"My son died young in a car accident — yes, he and his wife were Squibs — leaving a daughter named Roberta. I then took care of my granddaughter, and unlike her parents, she turned out to be a witch. No child could have been so kind and loving." At the thought of his granddaughter, Nobby's face brightened, but then darkened again as he asked, "Is there any news of her? Had the circumstances been different, I would have gone looking for her myself. But as you can see, I am now trapped in this frame . . ."
"Nothing at all," said Harry quickly. It would be a cruel thing to reveal that his granddaughter was now following the Dark wizards who had harmed Nobby Leach himself. "Just curious."
It turned out, however, that Nobby was more quick-witted than he seemed: His mouth opened to inquire further. Just then, Ron entered the office without knocking.
"Hi, mate. Are you hungry?" Ron said as he took a big bite out of the sandwich he was holding and handed him something wrapped in paper.
"Er — yeah. Thanks, Ron." When Harry turned his head, Nobby Leach was asleep again, his eyes closed. Harry opened the package to find some fishfinger sandwiches cut into small triangular pieces.
Once he had finished the sandwich in his hand, Ron picked up another and began to eat it. "By the way, Harry, why did you call me? To have lunch with me?"
"No, it's more important than that. I'll let you know when Hermione arrives."
"Wow, the three of us getting together again? It brings back memories of the good old days." He sat down in Hermione's seat and put his feet up on the desk. "This is a great office, but how can there be no windows?"
" Then there won't be enough room for all those bookshelves. There's no way Hermione's going to tolerate that. . . ." Harry waved his wand on the desk and two glasses of iced pumpkin juice materialized with a pop.
Ron took a quick sip of the juice and mumbled, "Thanks, I was just feeling a bit choked up."
It happened when they were almost finished with their sandwiches and pumpkin juice — Hermione threw open the door just as they heard the clicking of heels outside. She was dressed in her favorite robes of floaty periwinkle-blue fabric (she wore them whenever she went out in public), her usually bushy hair tied into an elegant knot at the back of her head. A few strands of sleek, shiny hair ran down both cheeks, perhaps because she had run to get here. She watched them in turn as Ron munched on his sandwich with his feet up on her desk and Harry choked on his pumpkin juice. The hardened expression on Hermione's face made Harry and Ron freeze.
"What are you two doing here? I've been dealing with reporters trying to eat me alive all morning and you're partying in my office!"
"It's not that, dear — I'm — I'm only here because Harry called me!" cried Ron.
Hermione then turned her anger on Harry. "And Harry, what on earth has happened? Yesterday you told me I didn't have to worry about anything. Then I came to work today and found out that Mr. Ollivander had been kidnapped, the two Aurors and Susan had been hospitalized and YOU WERE NOWHERE TO BE FOUND!"
"Please calm down, Hermione. I have some very important information to share with you."
The moment Harry looked Ron in the eye, he quickly got up, pulled the red couch from the wall and sat down on it instead. As Hermione sat at her desk, strewn with food and paper towels, she waved her wand irritably and muttered "Evanesco" to clear up the mess.
"Let me begin by apologizing for the events of last night," said Harry. "I was too careless."
"What did I say? Time to admit you're getting older!" Hermione said, running a hand through her increasingly bushy hair. "But okay — to be honest, I never thought you'd have a problem dealing with Crabbe senior. . . ."
"It's not Crabbe, Hermione. Markus Dolohov, who we arrested last night, says there's more to it."
"Markus Dolohov? Is he related to Antonin Dolohov?" Hermione grimaced as she spoke. In addition to killing Remus Lupin, Antonin Dolohov had once cast a curse on her during the battle at the Ministry of Magic in her fifth year, seriously injuring her.
"That's right, he's the son of that wicked man. Markus told me that the followers of the Dark Side now have a new leader named Eisenbein, and that the former Death Eaters have renamed themselves the Dawn Breakers."
"Eisenbein? I've never heard of him," said Hermione doubtfully.
"Neither have I. According to Harry, he was close to You-Know-Who," said Ron. "I'm not sure how credible that is, though. . . ."
"Ron, call him Voldemort for once," said Hermione. "After the battle at Hogwarts, you helped put that brute's body in an empty chamber. Why are you afraid of him now?"
"It's not fear — it's just that the name could bring us bad luck, like before. I won't risk you getting hurt again," said Ron warmly. His gaze drifted to Hermione's wrist, where Bellatrix Restrange had once engraved an insulting inscription — Mudblood — with a dagger during their brief incarceration at Malfoy Manor. Hearing these words from her husband, Hermione seemed to feel better.
"Now, let's get down to business," said Harry urgently. "This Eisenbein is the one who stole my Cloak of Invisibility. Not only did he kidnap Ollivander, he's up to something big and we don't know what yet."
"Your Invisibility Cloak? But how do you know that?" Ron asked with a confused look on his face.
"I learned it from Markus. According to his description, the appearance of Eisenbein's cloak matches mine," Harry explained.
When Ron heard the answer, his expression became even more confused. "Are you saying that Eisenbein is wearing the Invisibility Cloak and that others can still see it? Then why would you even call it an Invisibility Cloak?"
Harry felt like he had been hit over the head. It was almost unbelievable that he had missed this simple point, even though it was a question he should have asked. Still, Harry thought that this fact alone could not acquit Eisenbein of his charges.
"He could've worked it out somehow. . . . It's possible he's cast a new spell to limit the Cloak's transparency only when necessary," Harry insisted, but the explanation he offered sounded far-fetched even to him.
"Harry, even if that's true, it doesn't prove that Eisenbein is planning another great deception," said Hermione wisely. "He was probably motivated to steal the Invisibility Cloak because he wanted to steal Ollivander's wands."
"I told you. On Christmas Day, I threw every protective enchantment I knew at the Dursleys' house. One of them couldn't be penetrated even by Voldemort himself," Harry said, frustrated by his friends' indifference. "It makes no sense to break through all those barriers just to commit a single robbery with the Cloak. Eisenbein is an extremely dangerous Dark wizard, and we must issue an order to arrest him immediately."
Embarrassed, Ron rubbed his nose, smearing it with fish oil, and exchanged glances with Hermione.
"Stop it, I know what you two are thinking."
"We weren't thinking anything, Harry!" exclaimed Ron.
"He's right! We just happened to be looking at each other," Hermione agreed.
"You're lying; there's something very familiar about that expression . . . Yes, that's right — whenever I accused Malfoy in my sixth year at Hogwarts, you made that look. But who was right in the end?" said Harry, who used to say that every time two of his friends didn't take him seriously. It worked so well this time, too, that it immediately made Ron and Hermione look guilty. "Hermione, please do as I say. You need to issue an alert in the name of the Minister and mobilize as many personnel as possible to track down Eisenbein."
"But Harry, as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, you have the authority to issue a nationwide wanted notice. Why do you need my name?"
"Because it wouldn't be nationwide — I want to put out a worldwide warrant for him."
Hermione and Ron exchanged uncomfortable glances again, but quickly turned away before Harry could reprimand them. Hermione took a parchment scroll from her desk drawer and scribbled something on it. Her spell transformed the purple note into an airplane and it escaped through the small vent in the ceiling.
"I understand, Harry . . . but first we should discuss this with the Department of International Magical Cooperation. I've just asked the Head of the Department to come here."
"Who, by the way, runs that department?"
"Percy Weasley," said Hermione flatly.
"Oh dear. Brace yourself, Harry," Ron said with a smirk.
"Since when has Percy been the Head there? He used to work in the Department of Magical Transportation . . ."
"Harry, pay attention to what's going on inside as well as outside," Hermione told him. "Late last year there was a staff reassignment at the Ministry. . . . Everyone was surprised when Percy applied for the post in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, which is considered a relatively trivial post."
"Why would an ambitious person like Percy go there?" Harry asked, but was interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Come in," said Hermione. A man wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a perfectly starched dark robe entered the room respectfully. Like his father, Percy Weasley's once fiery red hair was bald from the front.
"Can I help you in any way, Madam Granger?" Percy asked politely, but then spotted Ron and froze.
"Perce, just call her Hermione. You make me flush," said Ron teasingly.
"We have to keep work and life separate. Would you please explain why my brother is here, Madam?"
"Have you forgotten? I'm the Special Advisor to her. I can come in whenever I want," Ron replied without giving Hermione a chance to answer.
"Ron, I don't have time for this." Harry swung his wand to make a chair and motioned for Percy to sit down. As Percy listened intently, Harry recounted in turn the loss of his own Cloak of Invisibility, Ollivander's abduction, and Markus's statement about Eisenbein.
"Let me summarize for you," said Percy sternly. "Now you're telling me to send an official letter to the magical governments of the world just to catch a cloak thief?"
"Not just a cloak thief, he's Voldemort's heir," Harry retorted.
"He must be an impostor. You've lost your touch, Harry," sighed Percy. "How would Mr. Crouch react if he saw this? He'd just laugh it off; the only reason I put up with this is because it's you."
"Percy, I now understand why you wanted to join the Department of International Magical Cooperation," said Harry thickly. "You wanted to follow in Barty Crouch's footsteps, didn't you? I always thought you had a bigger dream . . ."
"Don't say like that! Mr. Crouch was the best wizard that ever set foot in the Ministry!" Percy raised both his eyebrows and his voice, and his face turned pink.
"Percy, Barty Crouch imprisoned innocent people without trial. That practice wasn't fully abandoned until I became Minister."
Hermione's rebuke caused Percy to look away and remove his already clean glasses, wiping them with a handkerchief.
"When you worked for Crouch, you whined about even smaller things than this. Remember when you acted like the world would end if the cauldrons got thinner?" said Ron helpfully. Harry was grateful to his two friends for helping him when he needed it, no matter what they would be thinking at the moment.
"Standardizing the thickness of the cauldrons was an extremely important matter! Without my intervention, disastrous things might have happened —"
"Percy, let's get down to business," began Harry. "Voldemort was able to travel throughout Europe unchallenged, while Grindelwald was able to Apparate to America in his prime. In order to capture Eisenbein, we will have to issue a worldwide wanted order."
"These allegations are not serious enough to justify such an action. There must be more than your intuition — I need proof!" Percy remained stubborn.
Frustrated, Harry tapped his fingers on the desk, unsure of how to convince him. His intuition told him that Eisenbein was a dangerous man and that he should get his Invisibility Cloak back before it was misused. As for Percy, if he wanted proof, then . . . . Harry glanced aimlessly at Hermione's bookshelves until he noticed something. Each department's report was displayed next to the grandfather clock in the middle of the front wall. His eyes scanned the labels on each bookshelf, sorting the reports by year. In the column with the number two years ago, he finally found the folder he was looking for.
"I want you to read this, Percy," said Harry, slamming the stack of papers he had brought in front of him.
Percy put on his glasses and began to read. "There are mountain trolls riding graphorns through Hungary. . . . Giants waling through the Greek Seas, and the werewolves have gone entirely underground. . . ." The report ended with Percy raising his eyebrows. "Something's wrong here."
"Harry, this is the report I gave you to read some years ago. You didn't read it then because you hated paperwork," said Hermione in a disapproving voice.
"I wasn't sure what it meant then. Now I understand: Those dark creatures served Voldemort in previous wars; Eisenbein now claims to be Voldemort's heir and calls them from all over the world. Apparently, this conspiracy is still going on, because yesterday a Chimaera escaped from Greece and went on a rampage. Is that proof enough, Percy?"
Percy gave a long sigh after thinking for a moment. "If the Chosen One says so, there's nothing I can do about it. . . . Mr. Crouch would've said there was still a lack of evidence, though. I'll send an official letter to every country to let them know if anyone is operating under the name Eisenbein."
Weeks passed with no results, even after Eisenbein's wanted notices were sent around the world, as Harry had ordered. He now knew who had stolen his cherished Invisibility Cloak, but the faint hope that had sprung from the elusive clues was quickly fading. He spent his time in his office as before, watching Crabbe senior's Christmas gatherings through Teddy's memories in the Pensieve or reading reports of suspicious trends from Aurors around the world.
Easter was two weeks away and spring had returned to the outside world, but there was still no news of Eisenbein. In Markus's case, powerful magic had indeed erased all of his important memories, and Harry had been unable to restore them. Furthermore, after the first questioning, Markus would say nothing more.
One day, Harry was reading the report when the office door suddenly slammed open. "Teddy, what's going on?" He asked without lifting his head; only his godson would enter his office without knocking.
Seeing the door close again, Teddy pointed his wand at it and cast a Sound Concealing Charm: "Muffliato!"
"What's all the fuss about? You're going to frame another one of your Slytherin colleagues, aren't you?"
"You're right Harry, it's about Slytherins." Teddy sat down in a chair beside Harry. "But I'm not going to falsely accuse them. We can call it reasonable suspicion based on facts."
"Teddy, please. If you're going to dismiss all your Slytherin colleagues as Dark wizards just because they're as fat and ugly as Crabbe, or friendly to snakes, or ambitious in their careers, I'd have to dismiss half of my Aurors."
"Not for any of those reasons this time. You know I was staying at the Leaky Cauldron, like you told me, don't you? Just in case you forgot."
"Of course I know. Is Hannah doing well?"
"It seems she's been drinking more since she got out of St. Mungo's, but she's fine. Anyway, I happened to overhear the two Slytherin Aurors — Baddock and Bulstrode — talking in secret once while I was there."
"Go on, let's see how trivial a thing you're going to denigrate your fellow Aurors with . . ."
"Just listen — Bulstrode agreed with Baddock that Eisenbein's pureblood superiority had some merit. You see? Slytherins are never to be trusted."
"The most faithful man I ever knew was a Slytherin. People shouldn't be judged by their House."
"What do you think of this, anyway?"
"I don't know . . . it's no secret that many Slytherins still cling to pure-blood supremacy. It's unlikely that we can do anything with this information alone."
"But that's not all," Teddy continued. "After I overheard that conversation, I kept my eyes on the interrogation room, wondering if Markus was up to something. Guess what I saw: The Aurors from Slytherin House, during their shifts on guard duty, were wrapping their right hand around their left wrist!"
It took Harry a while to comprehend this. "So my Aurors put some sort of a Dark Mark on their wrists? If that's really the case, it's a serious matter, but —"
"They didn't actually engrave the mark there, of course. It's just a secret signal between them. To show that they are not loyal to the Ministry of Magic, but to the Dark Lord and his heir."
"How could such an accusation be made based on holding one's wrist? One could have accidentally injured that part."
"Isn't it unlikely that two people would have wrist injuries on the same side at the same time?"
"I see your point, Teddy — I'll keep an eye on my Aurors. Now get back to Diagon Alley; you never know who might have been kidnapped by now."
Harry said this to get Teddy out of his office, but he couldn't help but watch his men's wrists for the next few days. There was some truth to Teddy's words. In fact, the more he watched, the more convinced he became that his godson was right. Harry's Aurors were about half Slytherins, who usually excelled in their schoolwork and were keen on the Dark Arts. And again, Harry noticed that about half of his Slytherin Aurors clasped their left wrists briefly as they passed each other. Now Markus Dolohov's disturbing warning came to Harry's mind: In the interrogation room, he had said that he would walk out of the Ministry himself. If his sympathizers were growing that fast, it was only a matter of time before an Auror would remove the suspect's restraints and leave the door wide open.
Hermione called Harry on Thursday afternoon, just as Harry was considering bringing this alarming sign to the attention of his friends the week before Easter. On the paper airplane Harry received was written: Harry, come to my office as soon as you see this. Ron is with me.
The note ended there, but if the information had to be shared by the three of them alone, Eisenbein would be the only possible subject. . . . Leaving his office, Harry dashed through the narrow corridor between the cubicle walls, ignoring the surprise of the Aurors, and headed for the upper floor. During the lift ride, his mind was filled with all sorts of ideas and possibilities. In which country had Eisenbein been discovered? How many Aurors would it take to catch him? It was finally time to go get his Invisibility Cloak back; then he could overcome the feeling of helplessness that had held him back since last Christmas. . . .
He entered Hermione's office with excitement, but then froze as the unexpected sight unfolded before him. The interior had originally looked like a quiet library, but flowers and pink ribbons now decorated the shelves like a party hall. The once tidy desk was overflowing with boxes of chocolates, bottles of butterbeer, and all sorts of snacks like eclairs and cream cakes. Upon Harry's entry, Hermione and Ron, who were dancing hand in hand and giggling like children, looked at him. They were wearing bright orange robes over their clothes, making them look like overgrown, bouncing oranges.
"Join us, mate!" Ron shouted, pulling Harry in. There was even laughter and clapping from Nobby Leach in the portrait, who usually pretended to be asleep.
"Is there a reason for all this?" asked Harry, stunned. "Have you caught Eisenbein already?"
"Eisen who?" Ron frowned, forcing Harry to put on a spare orange robe from the desk. "It's not some boring Auror duty we called you here for. There's something to celebrate!"
Red petals spewed from Hermione's wand, embroidering the floor as she rushed madly toward him. "Harry, we did it! England is going to host the Quidditch World Cup!" Hermione screamed happily as she hugged Harry, and with the orange robes still binding his arms, he almost fell backward.
"Wow, brilliant! Unbelievable!" shouted Harry. Despite his best efforts, the voice sounded too hearty to be his. The news should have made him glad, but he was disappointed, since he had hoped so much to capture Eisenbein and retrieve the Invisibility Cloak.
"You should have seen those Americans!" cried Hermione with delight. "When they found out we were hosting the World Cup, their faces looked like they had been hit with a frying pan. . . . When we shook hands to say goodbye, the President of MACUSA seemed to want to break my hand."
"Hermione, don't forget my contribution. Who put the Chudley Cannons posters in our bedroom? Who told you to pray in that orange uniform every time you went to bed?"
"All right, all right. . . . Superstition or not, the result was positive anyway." Hermione smiled and kissed her husband on the cheek.
"You all did a great job — it worked out really well. The World Cup is next year, right?" asked Harry.
"That's true, but there's still a long way to go," said Hermione, who seemed to have calmed down a bit. "First we have to build the stadium, and then we have to make sure that our national team wins the upcoming World Cup."
"I agree a hundred times. The sight of the English National Team being crushed by Transylvania in the 1994 World Cup still haunts me," Ron said with a shudder.
"Mr. Leach can give us some advice on that." Hermione looked back at the portrait, her eyes glistening. "Wasn't it in your term that the English Quidditch team won the World Cup, Nobby?"
"Of course, Hermione! I'll give you any advice you want," laughed Nobby.
Despite everyone's joy, however, somewhere deep in Harry's heart a heavy lump of lead seemed to have settled. The utter horror of the Death Eaters came flooding back to him as he vividly remembered the night of the Quidditch World Cup final just before his fourth year at Hogwarts. . . . The burning tents, the smoky, dark sky, and the Muggle families being lynched, hanging upside down in the air. . . .
"Hermione, Ron. I'm really glad to hear things are going well," Harry said, and both friends nodded enthusiastically. "But as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, security is my number one concern."
"Oh, Harry, what could possibly be bothering you?" Ron asked with a grin.
"Well, for example — a Death Eater who's locked up in this building right now?" Harry said, wiping an awkward smile from his face. "Hermione, I want to take Markus Dolohov to Azkaban. I think he is trying to mislead my Aurors by making small talk with them."
"Give him a break, Harry. I'd want to talk to someone if I was locked in a dark room all day."
"His concern is not entirely unfounded, however. According to The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century, Gellert Grindelwald once managed to convince a guard to join him using nothing more than his tongue and escaped from prison," said Hermione seriously. "But Harry, Markus Dolohov isn't as prominent a figure as Grindelwald, is he? We would look intimidated by his presence here if we made an exception for him."
"It's still better than letting him get away," said Harry.
"Have some faith, mate," said Ron. "Who's in charge of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement now? It's Harry Potter — the greatest Auror of our time!"
"Besides, there's another reason why we couldn't just lock young Dolohov up in Azkaban. There are many things to learn from Muggles, especially the presumption of innocence. The purpose of adding this principle to our law was to prevent people like Hagrid and Sirius from being unfairly sent to Azkaban in the first place!"
Harry winced slightly when he heard his late godfather's name from Hermione. To prevent another case like Sirius Black, Harry had actively supported her in introducing the principle of innocent until proven guilty into the Ministry of Magic's decree. However, it seemed unfair that a criminal like Markus could abuse the law that was meant for the innocent.
"There's a big difference between Azkaban now and then. There are no more dementors," Harry protested, his voice less confident than before.
"But according to Kingsley, there are still many of them in its underground cavern, very angry and hungry, aren't they?" said Hermione firmly. "Imagine some of them escaping and kissing someone who hasn't been tried yet — things are going to get out of hand. Remember what happened to the impostor Mad-Eye Moody? We went to all that trouble in fifth year because he got kissed by a dementor."
Harry had to agree, since he had almost been kissed by a dementor himself when he had done nothing wrong.
"Now that we've got that out of the way, let's move on to something really important," Hermione said, clearing her desk of cake slices and empty butterbeer bottles. "Few people know that we are hosting the World Cup. We'll hold a press conference tomorrow morning and keep it quiet until an official announcement is made. Ah, I'm so glad it's almost Easter!"
"What does Easter have to do with this?" asked Ron, looking confused.
"To call yourself an advisor with that much political sense, Ron! Hogwarts will be on Easter break for two weeks from next Monday, did you know that?
"Of course I did!" said Ron sheepishly. "Once the Christmas holidays were over at Hogwarts, I always looked forward to the Easter holidays. . . ."
"Then hear me out, Ron. All relatives tend to gather when children return home. And it's natural for adults to discuss politics when they're together. That is how public opinion is formed around Easter," explained Hermione calmly. "We will get positive words about our regime if I announce the World Cup just before the holidays. That will give me a better chance of being re-elected."
"The election is years away, and you're already worried about re-election?" said Ron, shaking his head. "You used to worry about exams right after the start of term at Hogwarts; now that they no longer exist, you worry about elections. You're such a worrier, Hermione . . ."
"Stop it, Ron, and help me rehearse." Hermione had already taken out several quills and a long roll of parchment.
Harry and Ron stayed late to help Hermione with her speech, trapped in her office. In the end, when she couldn't find a single word she didn't like in the script of her speech, Hermione sat them both down in front of her and asked them to evaluate her voice. Harry could barely resist the urge to cover his ears as her voice echoed and boomed because of the Amplifying Charm. At almost midnight, Hermione folded the parchment with the speech on it, and Harry's tap on Ron's shoulder woke him up.
"Well, I think that's it for now, though it's not perfect yet," Hermione finally declared. "It's tomorrow morning at ten in the Grand Meeting Room at the Ministry of Magic. You'd better be there, both of you!"
Harry arrived at the Grand Meeting Room the next morning to find reporters and photographers from the Wizarding Wireless Network News and Daily Prophet lined up at the front, while wizards and witches of all ages took their seats. In the corner of the hall, Harry stood still, out of sight, when he heard a large beetle buzzing and fluttering near his ears. As he panicked and tried to move, he bumped into a white-haired man wearing bright yellow robes.
"Look who it is — Harry Potter!" shouted Xenophilius Lovegood. At his words, the people around them began to gather around them. Have you read any of our articles lately? My Luna has written touching stories about the giant spiders of the Forbidden Forest, whose very existence is threatened!"
"Yes, of course, Mr. Lovegood. My department is taking the matter — er — very seriously," Harry murmured.
"Then you'd better act fast! Let's not lose any more of these poor friends with many legs."
After many nods, Harry looked for a familiar face in the crowd. Finally, he saw Ron's flaming red hair rise and squeezed over to stand next to him.
"A stranger might think people are here to see you, Harry," Ron grinned at Harry.
"True enough; I was avoiding Rita Skeeter when I ran into Xenophilius. . . . It's been a while since he's been fighting for Acromantula rights," said Harry, sighing.
"Acromantulas — you mean those horrible man-eating spiders?" Ron said in disgust. "The idea of him getting weirder than he already was never crossed my mind . . ."
In the Grand Meeting Room, almost everyone had taken their seats by now, and the reporters had also returned to their seats after giving up on interviewing Harry. Hermione stepped up to the podium as Harry and Ron stood against the wall. Her hair was sleek and shiny, and she was wearing a floaty, lilac-colored dress, typical of her special occasion attire. Hermione stared solemnly at the audience below. In awe of her improved acting skills, Harry gasped. You would have thought she had some tragic news if you didn't know. Hermione took out her wand, pointed it at her neck and said, "Sonorus," magically amplifying her voice.
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic, my fellow witches and wizards. It must have been a surprise to receive such a sudden summons, but as Minister, I am honored to have so many of you here." Hermione's booming voice echoed throughout the hall, and she received a polite round of applause from the assembled crowd. "The last two decades of peace have been a precious time for the Wizarding community, as everyone here knows. The last war was a time of division and the tragic loss of many of your loved ones, but in the end, we prevailed. Harry Potter, the Chosen One, defeated the most fearsome Dark wizard in history. And let me ask you, citizens: Whose choices made him the Chosen One? Those choices were yours. On that day, we celebrated a glorious victory, thanks to the ordinary people who had stood up for Harry and believed in his noble cause."
The applause was louder than before, and many people turned to clap for Harry. In response, Harry bowed slightly and squinted at the intense flash from the press photographers at the front of the room. Picturing his distorted face on the front page of the Daily Prophet the next day, Harry felt somber.
"Please allow me to explain why I have called you all here." The room fell silent when Hermione paused for a moment. "I am pleased to announce that England will host the Quidditch World Cup next year!"
After a few seconds of silence, the room erupted in deafening cheers. Almost everyone in the audience, young and old alike, cheered wildly, giving Hermione a standing ovation and waving their pointy hats. Hermione grinned, despite her best efforts to appear solemn.
"Yesterday's effort was worth it, wasn't it?" Ron asked, nudging Harry with his elbow.
"Yes, it was," Harry replied with a smile, "it was the first time Hermione had received such an enthusiastic reaction during her tenure. . . ."
Several minutes passed before the shouting finally stopped. Hermione waited patiently for everyone to calm down before continuing without using the Silencing Charm.
"England's last two previous World Cups were held in dark times. . . . Until then, Voldemort (a few middle-aged men and women shuddered at his name) and his followers were at the height of their power, and especially in the last World Cup held in our country, the glory of Ireland's victory was tarnished by the attack of the Death Eaters. This time, however, it's different: The upcoming World Cup will serve as an announcement to the world that British wizarding is fully recovered and united after the war!"
Another thunderous round of applause swept through the crowd, and excitement and happiness reigned. It was then that Harry noticed a small but persistent movement at the entrance to the room: A group of goblins, about half his height, were squeezing through the gaps between the people standing there. They grunted in their own harsh, unintelligible language as they passed through the chairs, but their diminutive stature kept them from attracting much attention. With Hermione holding most of the crowd's interest, Harry seemed to be the only one watching the goblins, and even Ron seemed unaware of them. He was about to tell Ron about their little march when one of the reporters in the front row raised her hand, silencing the crowd.
"Your speech was quite pleasant, Minister." It wasn't easy to see the reporter's face from Harry's side, as he could only see one of her arms wrapped in a yellow robe, but her sharp voice clearly belonged to Rita Skeeter. "There is one thing I would like to make clear, however. Hosting the Quidditch World Cup requires a large budget. During the last World Cup, Cornelius Fudge levied special taxes on cauldrons by standardizing their thickness and increased taxes on citizens purchasing Quidditch equipment. Wouldn't it be nice if you could tell the voters how much the event will cost?"
Her words dampened the excitement and enthusiasm, and voices murmured low with added anxiety. Harry turned to Hermione, wondering how she would answer the uncomfortable question. To his surprise, however, Hermione smiled relaxedly, as if she had been expecting the question.
"Rita, you made a good point. It was about time I brought up the financial issue," began Hermione. "Since I took office, you have published several articles criticizing my mismanagement of the budget. You also kindly suggested that I was personally misusing precious taxpayers' money by taking in more than I spent each year."
There were little laughs everywhere. Although Harry couldn't see clearly, he could easily picture Rita Skeeter's square jaw hardening with her faded smile.
"I'm going to address these accusations directly. The Quidditch World Cup has been a dream of mine ever since I became Minister of Magic, and I have secretly prepared a special budget to facilitate a smooth event at no cost to our citizens!"
The people stood and applauded even louder and more enthusiastically than before, with intermittent cheers. Harry said, "Ron, I think it's our turn."
In a moment, they exchanged glances, coordinated their timing, and shouted: "Granger! Granger! GRANGER!"
The slogan quickly spread from Harry and Ron to the others, and soon almost everyone in the Grand Meeting Room was chanting it. Hermione smiled shyly, as if she didn't know what to do, and lowered her head so as not to look arrogant.
This moment would surely be mentioned in Hermione's memoirs, and her polite but confident voice was already filling Harry's head: "The thunderous applause that day led to my re-election several years later. . . . The fervent support of the citizens enabled the magical community to take another step toward reform . . ."
Then Ron nudged him with his elbow, bringing him back to reality. "Harry, did you see those goblins? What could they be doing here?"
The goblins were already halfway up the vast spiral staircase leading to the podium above when Harry turned to look at the stage. Given the situation, Harry did not think the goblins would cause any problems.
"It must be part of the event, I suppose. . . . Maybe Hermione will be announcing bonuses for Ministry employees along with the goblins?" suggested Harry.
But his predictions soon turned out to be wrong, because Hermione certainly wasn't expecting them to show up. She stepped back from the podium, looking quite appalled, led by one of the goblins who pulled at her hem. She was then surrounded by all the goblins, who quickly uttered something with angry faces. It was impossible for them to hear what was being said, but the more she listened, the whiter her face became. The audience sat back and whispered worriedly to each other. Only the reporters, including Rita Skeeter, stood up and stared intently at the podium, looking as if an early Christmas had just been declared.
"Oh dear. I hope this isn't bad news," Ron whispered to Harry. But his wish seemed to be in vain. A tremor ran through Hermione's hands as she returned to the podium, her face drained of all color.
"I have just received unfortunate news from Mr. Ragnok, the Head Goblin of Gringotts Wizarding Bank," Hermione said in a thin voice. She took a sip from the water-filled goblet on the podium and continued in a trembling voice, "Several unidentified clients of Gringotts bank have withdrawn all the gold from the vault containing the Ministry of Magic's budget over the past week. Due to these unfavorable circumstances, the British Ministry of Magic is now declaring a moratorium along with its shutdown, as strongly recommended by Mr. Ragnok, with all employees on indefinite unpaid leave, except for essential personnel, as of today."
