25th November 1994 - 12 Grimmauld Place, London, England
Minister Rushed To Hospital; Foul Play Suspected!
Late last night Minister for Magic Cornelius was rushed to 's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries after he was discovered unconscious on the floor of his office by a Ministry official.
It is unclear why the Minister was in office after hours as early investigation has revealed that he had in fact gone home as per his regular schedule in the early evening, but an anonymous source has told The Prophet that traces of poison were found in a tea set that was found at the scene. Along with two teacups, strongly implying that there had been at least one other individual in attendance.
Which begs the question, who were they? The poisoner perhaps? Another victim?
Who stands to gain from the untimely demise of the Minister?
Investigation into the Ministries Guest Log book shows no unusual or at least no unexpected names and so far no one has come forward with information. But this reporter does wonder how difficult such things are to silence?
At the time of this article's creation the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has made no official statement aside to report that the investigation was ongoing and that they urge concerned citizens to remain calm.
Similarly 's Head of Staff Nigel Witherwick states on behalf of 's that they are doing everything they can to care for the Minister. Though a staff member who wished to remain unnamed did tell this humble reporter that the standard treatments had shown little effect and that a specialist was purportedly being called in to assist.
This, I'm sure dear readers you will whole-heartedly agree, is deeply troubling news. After all the Poison and Magical Toxin division of 's has been heralded several times in the past as being state of the art and without peer.
Which leaves this troubled reporter to wonder, as I'm sure you all must…
Just what type of evil substance was used on our Minister?
And similarly, just how
powerful must it be that our much lauded hospital is having to call in additional help? I give you my word that I shant rest till the truth has been uncovered, dear readers. The public deserves answers. This has been Rita Skeeter for the Daily Prophet.
Staring down at the morning paper Harry pondered the bizarre nature that was apparently Wizarding Great Britain.
After all, back on Volstar they managed to go about their business, to work, to home, to visit one of the sprawling public gardens that had popped up between houses.
The days were peaceful and any disagreements between the settlers had been kept civil.
There had certainly not been any assassination attempts.
Britain, or at least it's magical half, seemed to be intent on doing its own thing.
Which was now a second assassination attempt. First against himself, now against Fudge.
He really didn't know what to think.
As far as he had been able to see from his few visits to the Ministry there in England, there had been no obvious signs of discord. At least aside from the fact that apparently barely anyone talked to anyone in another department, unless it was to gossip.
Although that said, he had been under a joint auror/goblin task force to make sure anything unsavory, potentially damaging or otherwise sensitive stayed well away from him. So he was reviewing those trips with a bushel of salt.
Still, it all begged the question; Why?
Why an assassination attempt? Why poison? When then and not earlier, or later?
Did it have something to do with the bumbling of their failed meetings?
Was the responsible individual the cause of their failed meetings or someone that had gotten sick of the mess and had decided to get Fudge out of the way?
Although, if the last was true, why use poison when the Wizengamot was - according to rumour - just a hair's breadth away from calling a vote of no confidence in the Minister?
There were entirely too many unknowns for even his enhanced mind to come to anything more than supposition and conjecture. Two things that he was less than fond of, given his history of being on the receiving end of them.
It was Wednesday and just past mid-morning when he had finally decided to pull himself out of bed, opting for a very rare lazy morning since he had made sure to keep the day post tournament task free from official business in case he needed to reset or recover.
As it turned out he had needed neither, but he had opted to have a lie-in regardless to ponder over the events of the previous day.
And after waking from an oddly intense but barely coherent dream that had more to do with things like hormones than he really wanted to bother with just yet.
But he had gotten up, treated himself to an equally lazy shower before wandering down to have breakfast in the kitchen, as had become the norm.
Both Bill and Healer Graves were absent, having left at some point to take care of their own tasks for the day. Which was out to visit his brother Charlie in Bill's case, and to visit a friend in Healer Graves'.
Which meant it was just Harry, the house-elves and the goblins knocking about in Grimmauld for the day.
Kreacher, Harry had noticed, had been particularly attentive since he had returned from caring for the Black mausoleum. Taking turns with Hildegara to take care of all of Harry's basic needs while he was at 'home'. As such he had found breakfast ready and waiting, fresh from the stove when he had finally made an appearance.
Quite a difference from what Sirius had told him he should expect.
Eyeing the article again, Harry bit at his bottom lip, knowing that the mystery of it all would likely eat away at the back of his mind just like the mystery of the Philosopher's Stone, or the whole Chamber of Secrets mess.
He wasn't particularly good at leaving curious things alone, never had been really.
Tearing glowing eyes away from the article he eventually spared time for the next - noting absently that it seemed to take up most of the page - and hummed quietly, leaning out of the way so Kreacher could clear away the dishes and refill his tea.
Magical Marvels! TriWizard Tournament Starts With A Bang!
As many of our readers are aware, the First Task of the resurrected Tri-Wizard Tournament was held at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry yesterday afternoon with many of us both here in Britain and abroad able to spectate thanks to the groundbreaking inventions of one of the young Champions.
King Harry of the recently founded magical kingdom Volstar, has been wowing the world left and right with his many awe inspiring actions. The least of which actually seems to be the aforementioned kingdom founding. The first of its kind in centuries!
Some of our treasured readers were lucky enough to be in attendance at one of several very lucky spots yesterday and were able to watch the events of the First Task over distance thanks to King Harry's 'Viewing Array' invention, a collection of crystals whose exact method of function and creation have understandable been patented and remain secret, but whose functions allow to the sending of image and sound to their linked crystals.
And in an amazing twist, this revolutionary magical advancement (which may soon see magical households watching dramatic presentations in the comfort of their own homes like muggles do with their 'television') is not the most spectacular thing we lucky few were able to experience yesterday.
Yes readers, I'm talking about the shocking spectacle that was King Harry's completely wandless match against a fierce Swedish Short-Snout!
That's right readers, from start to finish, keen eyed viewers were able to note that His Majesty faced the Task completely wandless from start to finish. Though given the amount of noise and chaos in the arena made the action quite fast paced indeed, I (and everyone I questioned to ensure I had not in fact imagined the feat) did indeed see a lack of magical foci.
And His Majesties magic was in top form. From gravity dampening and heat resistance charms to the show stopper of all showstoppers.
The wandless and completely nonverbal transfiguration of both the Short-Snout's bluefire into tens of thousands of what I've been assured is a brand new species of purely magical butterfly which has been tentatively named the Starfire Butterfly for various reasons (see more about this miracle of magic that bends the laws of transfiguration and life itself on page 4!), but also, THE FORCED TRANSFIGURATION OF THE DRAGON ITSELF INTO A COMMON DUCK.
Please take a moment to read that helpfully capitalised and bolded titbit.
You have not misread. If you have heard the gossip already washing over the world, you have not misheard and nor have any of those lucky enough to witness the event first hand miss-spoken or misunderstood what they have witnessed.
No confundus. No Illusion. No Mistake.
The most powerful practitioner to walk the world in centuries stands among us, a gentle fourteen years of age.
He wasn't the only one to impress, of course. Each of the four Tri-Wizard Champion wowed the crowds with their creative mastery of their magic and abilities. All of whom managed to succeed in their task and give a brief interview with our own Eliza Fairweather as planned post Task. (Those interviews and Task Highlights can be found on pages 2 & 3).
I can't help but wonder, as I'm sure that many of you reading now are also wondering.
If this is the kind of performance we're seeing for the opening act, just what does the future have in store for us.
This has been Stephen Spellbender for the Daily Prophet, keeping you posted.
Setting the paper down very slowly on its face so he couldn't see either article again Harry gave into impulse and pushed his teacup out of the way so he could - with great dignity - beat his head against the counter top.
Ignoring the very distinct tunktunk that was his circlet crown making contact instead of his forehead.
To one side he could still hear Kreacher puttering about. Setting washed dishes to dry and setting about pulling out ingredients from the kitchens many, many cabinets for some treat or another to go with tea.
Harry couldn't tell if he was disappointed or not that the elf was opting to completely ignore his micro embarrassment induced meltdown.
On the one hand he didn't particularly want to well at the mess of emotions and thoughts the article had stirred up, but on the other hand he had gotten used to Sirius offering either his two cents or showering Harry with good natured teasing.
Not that he particularly wanted the teasing either.
Sighing to himself the teen pushed himself back upright and reached for his tea, wrapping his hands around the hot cup and settled for watching Kreacher work.
He had steadily been getting better, a little more clarity each day after he had been given proper time to mourn. The teen thought it might also help having other house-elves around to lighten the load of chores and that the house was so changed.
Originally Harry had expected the old, worn down elf to struggle with the changed house the most. But it seemed instead that the very obvious change between old and new was actually helping with the separation from the expectations and conditioning of his old master and mistress.
He supposed the best way to judge his improvement would be to see how well - or poorly - Kreacher reacted to and interacted with Sirius himself. Since even though he was the new master, he was a strong unavoidable tie back to people Kreacher seemed to be trying to actively let go of.
Though maybe his behaviour was normal.
After all the only house-elf he had spent any time around after the loss or separation from a master was Dobby who…
Harry blinked.
Pushing himself to sit up straighter he tried to recall if he had spoken to Dobby since they had parted after the teen had helped free the excitable elf from Malfoy senior.
Coming up blank Harry frowned.
"Dobby!" He tried.
From beside him there was a pop and as Harry turned he found huge eyes and an even bigger smile fixed on him. "Harry Potter has called for Dobby?"
The teen paused for a moment to take in the sight of the elf, noting the stained pillowcase smock which was likely the exact same one Harry had seen him in back in '92. Though it was accompanied by one purple and black striped sock and one bright red sock. A pair of small brown child sized runners and a set of black lace fingerless gloves that stretched over his knobby elbows and looked like they used to belong to someone's grandmother.
"Hello Dobby, how are you?" He started, for want of a better way to start a conversation.
The free-elf beamed. "Very well, sir. Dobby has been travelling about and has seen many new places."
"And found some very colourful socks." Harry added with a smile, mood lifted by the other's enthusiasm.
"Yes indeed, Dobby has as many as seven socks now!"
"That's quite a collection, you've been building." The teen replied, amused and idly wondering if he had decided to collect socks since that was what had set him free.
Puffing up in pride Dobby nodded happily before he turned his attention to study the mismatched kitchen. "Dobby has heard that Harry Potter is now a King, magnificent and powerful. Is this Harry Potter's castle?" He asked curiously, eyeing Kreached for a moment where the other elf worked before moving on.
"I have, but no. I don't have a castle or a palace yet. This is 12 Grimmauld Place, it's one of the properties of the most ancient and noble House of Black. The current Lord is my godfather and friend, he's letting me stay here while I have to be in Britain for the Tri-Wizard Tournament."
Abruptly Dobby bounced on the tall counter stool he had appeared on, eyes widening and a grin of pure glee stretching across his face. "Dobby knowns of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, he read about it in the papers and saw the dragons in the big crystal viewing screen yesterday!"
"Oh, what do you think so far?" Harry asked, unable to help himself.
"Harry Potter is stupendous!" The free-elf replied, small work worn and scarred hands clapping excitedly. "He has grown so much."
Grinning himself at the others enthusiasm Harry leaned forward to let his elbows rest against the counter. "Well I'm glad you think so. It's been very busy the last year and a bit."
The smaller figure nodded rapidly, large ears flapping wildly. "Yes, yes! Magic kingdom." He cried, wide excited grin in place. "Dobby read all about it, elves and goblins and wizards all being friends!"
"That's actually why I called you to visit." Harry admitted, turning a little so he was facing his first elf friend more directly. "I was thinking you might like to visit there, or live there even."
The excited bouncing stopped and the wide grin slowly slipped from his face as the elf stared across at the boy king.
Suddenly unsure what the diminished reaction meant, Harry pushed on to quickly explain himself. "You don't have to, obviously, you're a free-elf. You can go anywhere you want. I was just thinking that there's jobs in the Skyfall Ministry. Or well, the Skyfall one is the only one that's been built yet, since Skyfall is the capital but there's jobs for elves and about elves." He said quickly.
"There's spots for ambassador kind of positions, and the elvish welfare department." Harry added quickly, running through some of the jobs in his head while he talked. "There's also a lot of other jobs around the city that you could do...work in a shop or in the gardens…?"
He trailed off, feeling more than a little uncertain thanks to the lengthening period of quiet.
Quiet?
Turning his head to where he last saw Kreacher mixing up some form of biscuits, Harry noted that the house-elf had stopped in place and was focused on the gaping Dobby instead.
"A free-elf?" Kreacher muttered, kraggy features settling into a deep scowl of derision.
Ah, right. Harry sighed.
Since elves typically bonded themselves for life - whether their own or their master - seeing a free-elf usually meant one of a couple things.
Either the elf had outlived their master or mistress and there was no one else left to inherit the elf in questions services or they had been let go, fired as it were from their position as servant of a magical household.
The former was regrettable certainly, but was known to happen from time to time. The better option despite the loss of life, at least as far as elf culture was concerned.
Because typically, to be let go from a position amongst House staff, meant that an elf had either performed an illegal action - either according to the House rules of those set about by the government of whichever country they resided in - and their firing was the most obvious and cemented sign that the elf in question was not welcome in the House.
Or, it meant that the elf had failed in their tasks so thoroughly or repeatedly that they were deemed unsalvageable. That either through ineptitude or poor behaviour an elf was not fit to serve.
It was a very big thing, among elves, to betray or let down the masters that were relying on your services to keep their household running smoothly. To serve their House in quiet skill and dignity.
Taking a moment to brace himself a little, Harry turned to address Kreacher more directly. "I orchestrated Dobby's severance from his previous master after I found them to be behaving dishonorably and had through their actions endangered the lives of magical children, bringing shame upon their House." Harry told him sternly. "Their punishment for those crimes was the loss of their diligent elf servant."
Kreacher looked away from Dobby in order to stare up at Harry, expression taking on a more thoughtful cast as he seemed to weigh the explanation.
Eventually the kraggy elf inclined his head and bowed low, his long nose just missing the polished floor. "It is the duty of Kings to punish Lords and the duty of elves to obey."
And with that he straightened and went back to work, seemingly content to largely ignore Dobby's presence.
"King Harry would let Dobby work in his new home?"
Speaking of Dobby.
Turning away from Kreacher to focus back on the free-elf Harry nodded. "I would. I think you'd give the other elves a unique perspective." He said honestly, giving the smaller figure a small smile. "Who knows, there might end up being more free-elves that need someone to give them advice."
Really, he probably should have expected to find himself suddenly gaining an armful of excited elf. As it was though Harry found himself nearly knocked off his stool.
It took a little while to calm the elf down, but eventually Harry steered the conversation to more specific things.
He explained the laws that had been written to protect all the people that lived and worked on Volstar. Explaining that no, he could not negotiate for less wages because each job had a certain minimum amount that needed to be paid to everyone that worked, just like there was hard maximums that certain jobs could be paid to protect against corruption.
Explaining work uniforms had been a bit easier, since there was already the example of House livery that he could point to. Then he had just pointed out that rather than the House being embroidered onto the uniform the logo or crest of the company the person - elf or otherwise - worked for would be sewn in instead.
That had been met with disagreement from Dobby and surprisingly Kreacher as well, who Harry hadn't thought was listening.
Not against wearing the symbol of the business, but both insistent that the elf uniform should still bear the crest of their sworn House. Even if their tasks were focused around the business instead of the House.
The teen had made a mental note to talk that over with the other house-elves that had been left in Skyfall, to gauge their opinions on the matter.
Though, since Hildegara had given him a look and told him much the same when he had originally touched on wholesale replacing pillowcase and teatowel smocks for actual uniforms.
He went on to explain the different accommodations available to elves that lived in Skyfall, the little houses that numbered four to a garden plot for small elf families or otherwise singular elves that wanted less neighbours and more garden space. Or the tall spellglass sheathed flats that stretched up and up with little hanging gardens on each balcony to go with the garden that surrounded the building. Where hundreds of elves could live together in family communities, still tied in with nature.
Both Dobby and Kreacher had boggled a little at the notion of elves living anywhere separate from their masters, but Harry had quickly explained that the choice was more geared towards the elves who were tied to businesses rather than a House, free-elves, or elves that wanted to continue living with their families.
Eventually the more he talked and explained things, the happier both elves seemed to be with the order of things.
Even if it was only Dobby that was making the move.
So far.
Sirius still seemed a little on the fence about making the move permanent for the House of Black.
Not for lack of want or belief in what they were building, but because it would mean the loss of the family magic that had been steadily accumulated over generation upon generation of lives aligned with and nurtured by the Black blood and magic.
Actually properly moving would mean removing the magic roots that had been anchored to the land with seasonal rituals and bursts of magic large and small.
From what Harry knew about Sirius' family history, the House of Black had lived in and been nurtured by England since one of their predecessors Rigelus the Black had settled there to escape a particularly nasty feud that had resulted in a truly unhealthy amount of poison being used. That settling had occurred one-thousand-two-hundred years ago.
Which meant that wixen of that same bloodline had been shedding excess magic into the same pool for longer than Hogwarts had existed. It was why they were titled a 'Most Ancient' house. Since to be called so, your line had to be traceable to a period of over one-thousand years of existence and of course still be in existence and capable of living on.
The Potters were classed as 'Ancient' themselves, though not Most Ancient since they had existed as they were now for more than the five-hundred years of uninterrupted existence. But still being a thorough chunk of years short of the awe inspiring 'Most Ancient'.
The Peverells that the Potters had descended from would have joined the Blacks in their position as a much lauded Most Ancient House, but all their branch lines had split off into other, newer Houses and the main line itself had long since died out. Leaving it effectively, excepting for the small bit of blood and magic that had passed down to the Gaunt line and the Potter line.
But that did mean that, the Black line which had no close contenders for England's oldest magical line. At least in terms of its human origin.
No other line had the same deep pool of Family Magic that could be called on in strife that the Black line did. And since the line had effectively come down to just Sirius left, it meant that if he formalised the move and started the home warding and blessing rituals that came with founding a new home for a magical House that he would be doing so from scratch.
Something that would have had most, if not all, other wixen Houses fleeing the other way.
The enormous enviable pool that had been built and nurtured in England - had been seeded before England as a country had even been founded - would seep into the land to nourish it, a parting gift of sorts to honor the land for having nurtured the family.
Which in of itself wasn't a bad thing since sometimes a sizable gifting of magic - and this would be a particularly grand one - would sometimes garner blessings from the land and its spirits that would help protect and nurture you for the trip and after.
No, the problem was letting go of such a sizable pool of magic - for all that it had been slipping away already when Harry had gotten to Grimmauld and had had to infuse and anchor it - that could be drawn from going forward when whatever was going on finally came to a head.
And both Remus and Sirius were positive that it would at some point.
But that was still to come. Years off maybe, based on the strange events that happened to Harry each year.
For now Kreacher and the magic pool would stay tied to this revived hodge-podge of a house in England.
Even if he rumbled out thoughts and ideas as to the nature of elves on Volstar while he puttered about the kitchen, serving up steaming biscuits straight from the oven with tea.
A flick of his glowing gaze toward the face down paper though, had Harry pondering if maybe things might resolve themselves much sooner.
Riddle Manor, England
In an old house with crumbling walls, forgotten by most save for those few in the town that were old enough to recall its long dead owners, a figure sat.
A figure both man and monster had curled its small weak form into the curling high back of the armchair he had been placed in. One of the few that remained largely unaffected by the march of time.
Cast about him atop dust thick floors were torn pages of newspaper, ripped to pieces in a pique of frustration.
There had been too many unknowns, too many unexpected twists lately that he had not anticipated. Much as it pained him to admit that, even to himself.
The boy was an anomaly almost beyond control.
The puppet minister, a broken toy that failed as much as he succeeded.
Both remained stubbornly in the way.
Both, he was adamant, would be dealt with sooner or later.
Sooner the bungling fool.
Later would come his treat.
His revenge.
A bloodshot, gleaming red eye cast down to glare balefully at the photograph of a boy, standing tall and proud while wearing a crown that by all rights - at least according to him - should have been resting upon his own brow.
Soon though, he would return to his former glory.
And when he did, the world would weep for its lost boy king.
Long may he suffer.