A visit to the Ministry of Magic
A long way away from the Scottish Highlands, people were enjoying the bright May sunshine in one of London's most beautiful parks, strolling along the lake, feeding the ducks, or savouring a glass of chilled white wine in St Jame's café. Children were running excitedly along the path, followed by exhausted parents who wondered whether visiting the park had been such a good idea. Several dogs were leading their owners from one interesting scent to the next, and a group of tourists were feverishly taking pictures before moving on to the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben.
By contrast, nearby Chadwick Street was quite deserted. Overgrown bushes clung to black iron railings under the severe red brick walls. The Speaker, the pub that stood at the corner, was devoid of customers at this time of day, as it was much too late for lunch and slightly too early for dinner. A couple of pigeons strutted on the pavement, looking for crumbs, dead insects, or whatever else they could get their angry little beaks on.
Suddenly, a grey-cloaked figure appeared out of thin air with a loud pop. The pigeons, alarmed, scattered clumsily and regrouped on the windowsill above. The figure lowered her hood, revealing the ruddy face and lank, mousy grey hair of a middled-aged woman.
She turned left after the pub, then right into a shabby street where an old red telephone box stood forlornly between a broken bench and a couple of overflowing bins. She went right in, picked up the receiver and dialled a number.
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business," a feminine voice uttered.
"Hemera Barfoot, resident of Hogsmeade. I have information concerning a Death Eater on the loose," the woman replied.
"Thank you. Please take the badge from the slot and pin it to you robes."
Moments later, Hemera Barfoot was waiting anxiously inside the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, rocking from one foot to the other. Several wizards and witches hurried past her, muttering agitatedly among themselves, while others, carrying piles of parchment, made their way to the golden gates at the far end of the hall. Hemera had never been inside the Ministry before, although her daughter Artemis worked for the Department of Magical Transportation, and she felt rather nervous. She wondered whether she ought to have talked to Artemis first.
"Mrs Barfoot?" a young witch wearing dark blue robes enquired. As Hemera nodded, the Ministry witch led her to the lifts, opened the golden grille and let the older woman step in first before closing it again. With a great clatter, the lift ascended slowly, stopping every now and then as busy Ministry workers got on and off.
When they walked out of the lift, Hemera found herself in a quiet, yet grand corridor with a row of impressive mahogany doors on either side.
"Mr Shacklebolt will see you now," the Ministry witch explained before leading her inside a brightly lit office. Two wide Charleston sofas stood on a thick purple carpet, and gilded mouldings decorated the ceiling. The portrait of a purple-clad wizard with a heavy wig hung on the wall. Behind a desk of polished mahogany, a broad-shouldered wizard in royal blue robes was looking at her, his chin resting on his hands.
"Good afternoon, Mrs Barfoot," he said, gesturing to one of the sofas. "Please sit." His deep voice was kind and reassuring, despite the worry lining his umber face. Hemera proceeded to state her case.
Kingsley Shacklebolt listened intently, without interrupting. When she had finished her tale, he leaned back in his chair and considered her gravely, tapping his chin with his fingers.
"Are you quite sure it was him?"
"I am absolutely certain, Minister. He's got a face you can't fail to recognize. I'm ever so scared of what he might do," she added, wringing her hands. "That man his capable of anything."
"Thank you for letting us know, Mrs Barfoot. Rest assured that we will look into this straight away. I would advise you to remain here for the time being while we investigate. I believe your daughter works at the Department of Magical Transportation?"
"She does, Minister."
"Very well." Turning to the portrait on the wall, he said, "Ulick, would you please send Artemis Barfoot to my office to collect her mother, and call Aurors Catherine Savage and Evander Williamson? I have an assignment for them."
Aberforth was cleaning the goat enclosure at the back of the Hog's Head. Armed with a rusty pitchfork, he picked up soiled straw and piled it in the corner, by the low stone wall. Next, he spread some fresh straw inside the pen and placed hay in the feed trough. Smokey and Cloudy, his two youngest goats, trotted eagerly around him, their clever little eyes expectant, sniffing his hands and pockets. He made sure to refill the water trough as well, and fed the goats a carrot each. Matey, the old billy goat, rushed over to demand one too, stamping his foot in displeasure that the nanny goats had been given a treat first. The old wizard went back inside, followed by Matey, who marched in as proudly as if he himself was the inn's rightful owner. Aberforth gave the place a quick sweep. Then, he sat gazing at Ariana's portrait. She was smiling a bittersweet smile. After all these years, he still missed her. Matey nuzzled his hand affectionately.
As Aberforth looked out the window, he noticed two strangers approaching the inn. One, a slim witch with a long plat of straw-coloured hair, was talking animatedly to her companion, a tall, wiry wizard sporting a ponytail. As they made to knock on the door, Aberforth opened it abruptly.
"Good morning, Mister Dumbledore," the blond witch said in a businesslike manner. "I am Catherine Savage, from the Auror Department, and this is my colleague Evander Williamson. May we have a word?"
"Don't look like I have a choice, does it? Come in," the old man grumbled.
The Aurors sat at the table, Catherine Savage's lip curling slightly at the shabby interior of the inn. She turned her gaze to the innkeeper and gave him a curt smile.
"We won't beat around the bush, Mister Dumbledore. Severus Snape, a known Death Eater, has been spotted in Hogsmeade."
"Snape? Last I heard, he's been killed by Voldemort's pet snake, has he not?" the barman interjected.
"Indeed, that is what some reports said. However, his body has not been recovered, and an eyewitness reported seeing him in Hogsmeade just this morning. We are concerned for your safety. He may well seek to kill you as he killed your brother."
Aberforth narrowed his blue eyes. "I am perfectly safe in my own pub, thank you."
"I told you, Cathy", the wizard sighed. "We'd be better off checking the Shrieking Shack, where Snape was allegedly killed." Turning to the barman, he added, "We won't be taking any more of your time, Mister Dumbledore. My colleague just wanted to make sure you were all right."
"Well, I'm right as rain as you can see."
"We'll be on our way, then," said Williamson. "Thank you, Mister Dumbledore."
"Do let us know if you notice anything unusual, won't you?" the blond witch added.
"Will do," the barman said tersely. Savage threw him a distrustful look.
As soon as they had turned the corner, Aberforth grabbed an old, tattered cloak. "That's bad news, Matey. I'd better go warn Morag and Snape," he muttered under his breath before Disapparating.