Chapter 33
Winter of Shadows
21 December 1992, Rosier Manor, England
Despite what the high officials of the Ministry of the Magic chose to believe in their paranoid minds, Yule celebration rituals were in general very tame. It was well-known that the night of the Winter solstice was the moment of the year where the powers of the Night and the Darkness were at their strongest; for those families and clans who still worshipped the Old Ways in this age, provoking these mysterious and powerful forces was out of the question. Samhain rituals were already potentially dangerous; the celebrations happening at a time when the veil between the dimensions of the living and the dead thinned considerably, and more than one wizard or witch had painfully discovered it wasn't wise to blasphemy his ancestors or the diverse divinities empowered on this particular day. Yule rituals had a far more sinister history than the former; between the tenth and the seventeenth century the list of wand-wielders having suffered a deathly magical backlash was enough to fill several volumes. Massive volumes.
Since the beginning of the sixteenth century, the Light and Neutral Houses had thus progressively decreased in potency or outright stopped their practises at Yule. In the last decades, the process had accelerated, with the Ministry bans and the rise of Christmas, but on average the Houses following the ancestral traditions made very simple rituals on that night. Silence, meditation, lighting of candles and cold meals were the main events. Yule was the longest night, and these witches and wizards remembering their origins treated it as a time of calm and veneration, carrying long black robes without any ornament or jewels. Clothes and appearance had to be austere. Make-up and polishing your nails was obviously discouraged. In some fashion, it wasn't very different from the practises of certain monks thorough the Middle Ages and after.
Nevertheless, at a moment the Light Houses stopped practising the Old Ways and tried their best to erase all knowledge of such activities, in a century where the Neutral Houses began to trust only their closest families and allies for such important matters, the Dark Houses celebrations had developed towards horrifying paths. Blood Magic. Cross-breeding experimentations, and not of the good kind. Curses so dark some Dark Wizards refused to dabble in them or even consider reading the books they were written on. Necromancy. Black Magic. Lethal diseases able to provoke pandemics on the world stage. The Grindelwald War fought on the continent had showed how far wizardkind was able to sink when greed, madness and bigotry were in play. The British Isles had been spared this wave of darkness thankfully, but the far more recent civil war had seen some of these barbaric innovations appear, as the Dark Lord Voldemort was perfectly content breaking the limits of morality and decency if it allowed him an advantage in his quest for domination and power.
Following a fight between Aurors and Death Eaters on December 21 1979 which had involved Inferius, werewolves, vampires and an awful version of blood sacrifices, Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold had passed Edict 1553-C with the full consent of the Wizengamot. All Yule and Old Way rituals were now totally forbidden, no matter how benign they were, and the new penalty being death by Dementor's Kiss for those caught in the act. One battle fought on the same date in 1980 had done nothing but aggravate the situation and reinforce the sanctions. The Ministry by the end of the civil war had consequently put in place new restrictions and powerful Dark Detectors all over the British Isles, to make sure no one continued these perversions of magic.
In theory, said detectors were literally able to notice any practise of Dark Magic or Ritual Magic in a range of several dozen miles. In practise, said detectors had been rushed rapidly to their arithmantic development and their efficiency could be best described as dubious. Any competent ward-master could put protections in place to prevent the Ministry from knowing illegal activities were taking place in a certain location. Manors and homes of the Ancient or Noble Houses of the Wizengamot had had these wards for decades or centuries. As a result, there were plenty of illegal things going on in the countryside that the authorities of London had no idea of. Like the blood-soaked scene situated behind Rosier Manor at this moment.
The immaterial apparition of a sixteen-year old Tom Marvolo Riddle was watching this carnage with a grim expression. There were bodies of Muggles men, women surrounding a large stone. All of them were dead, and their faces were bearing expressions of agony. Understandable as all of them looked like they had bled to death.
"Master, has the Sang Royal worked?"
The vision of the former Slytherin Prefect turned its head on his left to send a nasty glare to the only person left standing in this gloomy scene.
"Silence, Rosier. As you are alive the ritual has evidently worked." The shadow of the teenager was torn between pleasure and discontent at this point. Truly this first-year Slytherin was useful as a servant but utterly useless when it came to use his brains. How far Slytherin House had fallen to admit such vermin into its ranks. But as the proverb said, you used what you had, not what you wished for. "Now make yourself useful and bring the body of your Mistress to me. I wish to see if her body has survived the strain of the ritual."
"Yes, Master."
William Rosier advanced at a hesitant pace among the butchery, his steps making repugnant sounds as his very expensive shoes walked over the blood-stained grass. A slow unimpressive Wingardium Leviosa levitated the young girl who had been lying naked on the stone serving as the altar. The Rosier Heir came back in Riddle's direction, the effort to maintain the Levitation Charm making him sweat profusely. In a last effort before collapsing on his knees, William Rosier descended the body slowly in front of the memory of a man who had become in the seventies the greatest murderer of Wizarding Britain.
Tom Riddle sneered at this pathetic demonstration of magic, before turning his attention to the girl lying near the diary from which he had emerged.
The eleven-year old comatose on the lands belonging to the Rosier family had brilliant red hair and a pale skin, but at the light of the sole and only torch lit by Rosier, anyone could have told something was different. A lock of hair in the middle of all this red had taken a pale blond colour. The cheekbones and the form of the jaw were different from the rest of the face, more refined and noble. The skin was paler than it had been hours ago. A small gasp and a low movement from her torso indicated the witch was still alive. The ritual had not failed.
"Good. The ritual has worked." Had Tom Riddle been alive, he would have breathed in relief. As it was, this short sentence was the only thing which escaped his lips.
"Does this mean you are soon going to be reincarnated, Master?" Riddle frowned, angry at the impertinence of the boy serving him. Once he had a body back, his first act would be to test the Cruciatus on William Rosier and hopefully teach him a valuable lesson of discipline. But until that glorious and long-awaited day came, this worthless wizard and the resources of House Rosier were all he had at his disposition. That meant he had to answer the question of his servant, whether he liked it or not.
"No, Rosier. This ritual was only a means to an end. With it, it will be easier for your Mistress to wield her true potential and accomplish faster our objectives."
"Your objectives, Master?"
"I need a new body, Rosier." The smile showed by Tom Marvolo Riddle turned magnificently feral. "But I need the body and the magic of a wizard for this, not a witch. And I've already made my choice. After all, who better to serve as my new receptacle than the boy who is the cause of my first defeat?"
"The Boy-Who-Lived..." Whispered William in awe at the audacity of the plan.
"By the end of this school year," Said the being having once belonged to the soul of Tom Riddle, moving his illusionary hand dismissively, "Dumbledore will be crippled politically and expulsed from Hogwarts, his Golden Boy will be no more and the Light will be ready to be defeated at the instant I decide so. I will gain a new servant...a spy and a recruiter. Now, Rosier?"
"Yes, Master?"
"Your Mistress can't return to Hogwarts like this. You need to cast a Blood Glamour."
The skin of the first-year Slytherin turned livid. "But Master..."
"You have enough blood available here, don't you?" Smirked Riddle, internally cackling at the discomfort of the pure-blood who was always so full of himself in public. More so when it came to strut in presence of his housemates his wealth and his inheritance. "Then start to follow my instructions and collect the blood. It would be a shame if you did not pay attention and were forced to do it over and over..."
William Rosier shivered brutally at the tone of the apparition giving orders. There was only one source of light next to his familial manor, but this was largely enough to notice the expression on the being's face. Evil. Pure Evil. Alas, it was a bit too late to retreat now. The Muggles lying dead around the stone-altar had been sacrificed because they were categorised as liabilities and as a result, expendable. William Rosier had no wish to join them anytime soon.
22 December 1992, Unknown Location
"Some... incidents at Hogwarts have been reported to me, Your Majesty."
A sigh was the only answer which came of the figure hidden behind dark grey wizarding robes.
"Are they related to the current problems Albus Dumbledore face at the Wizengamot?"
"Difficult to say, My Queen. The old meddler's control over Hogwarts makes it hard to recognise the gravity of the situation. And we no longer have an agent in his stronghold since the death of our last pawn there."
"Regrettable, Knight Informer." There was no inflexion in the voice. The conversation might have been about flowers for all the feelings the two figures showed. "Continue to monitor the situation as best as you can. Any weakness presented by Albus Dumbledore is worthy to be noted."
"Acknowledged. Should I start some of our contingency plans if the situation develops...poorly?"
There was a brief pause in the conversation, as the second masked figure estimated the risks.
"No. The King has ordered us to put the greatest priority to the operations in the Middle East. Dealing with Albus Dumbledore and his Order of Phoenix would require funds and manpower the King is not going to give."
A very minor movement of the hood was the only manifestation showed by the first figure hidden by light green robes.
"You disagree?"
"Not exactly, my Queen. I agree with your point on our resources now, but surely there will be a time when our organisation will be free to turn its attention to Hogwarts? When this day comes, I believe it will be in the Exchequer's best interest to have agents and caches in place to deal with the situation."
"Your proposition... has merit." Seconds of silence followed more seconds of silence before finally being interrupted. "But you will need insight on Dumbledore's actions and plots to correctly plan his demise and our take-over of Hogwarts."
"Our last spy lived at Hogwarts during nine months and was never revealed as such." Objected the first figure.
"True. But he was also instructed to keep a low-profile among his colleagues, which meant he never created an information network among the students or tried to rally one or more core teachers to our cause."
"With all due respect, my Queen, what is done is done. We could however try to infiltrate another spy when the new school year will begin in September."
"We could. But this time I think we will need to bring someone stronger than a pawn to the playground if the Exchequer wants tangible results."
"What about someone who knows Dumbledore?"
The Queen of the Exchequer paused for fifteen seconds while looking at her interlocutor.
"Him?"
"He has the motivation."
"I will discuss it with the King."
22 December 1992, Hogwarts, Scotland
Severus Snape waked in great strides along the deserted corridors of Hogwarts, his dark mood preceding him like a dark aura of terror, his black robe billowing like a bat emerging from some tormented hell and his jaw tightened in the extreme. The Senior Potions Masters was rarely in a pleasant mood at any time, as a lot of Gryffindors could have vigorously attested over the last decade, but on this particular evening, his thoughts were particularly murderous and dark.
Severus Snape had been charged by his master Albus Dumbledore to patrol Hogwarts in the Headmaster's absence. This had been a rising occurrence over the last school years, Dumbledore being too busy assisting to Wizengamot and ICW meetings to deal with the mundane things requiring his presence inside the castle, but refusing to hire more people to deal with the menial tasks. Minerva McGonagall was doing his paperwork, to take one example amongst many. That patrolling was a simple task did not mean it was a pleasant one, especially it offered the friendless Professor the opportunity to see a lot of human interactions between students no one was ever going to give him. One impartial observer could have told it was Albus Dumbledore way to pass a subtle message to a man who had been part of the Death Eaters before coming to the magical school. Too bad the message had been totally ignored by the receiver.
Severus Snape's second mission was to find whoever was behind the series of attack that terrified the entire school, and to arrest him, on the spot if possible. The Chief Warlock remembered how Hagrid had been blamed fifty years ago for a crime he hadn't committed, and wanted no such errors to happen again. The problem, aside from the fact all Professors and at least two dozen Aurors should have been ordered to do this considering the sheer danger it put four hundred-plus students, was the sheer impossibility of it. Hogwarts was a large castle, with seven open floors, hundreds of classrooms, secret passages and magical artefacts. Finding something or someone who didn't want to be found was close to hunting illusions. Ancient alumni of the school had often said Hogwarts was a place where you could lose an entire army and never find them after decades of searches.
But Severus Snape was a Professor, even if a couple of hundred Gryffindors alumni would have jumped in the air to disagree vehemently this point. The job itself implied classes to assist, essays to correct and grade with unfair marks, cauldrons and ingredients to prepare, detentions to oversee and potions supplies to order from half a dozen suppliers. There was seven years of curriculums to decide, because it was not the mediocre Junior Professor Whitehall who was going to do it. There were analyses of confiscated love potions to do and idiotic girls to punish. All these necessaries activities made sure his patrols and his searches did not happen before curfew and sometimes later than this hour-mark. To add a little difficulty to the procedure, Severus Snape had not been given any oversight over the formidable wards protecting Hogwarts. The mysterious attacker petrifying the Muggle-born children could have been attacking one corridor away from him, and the Potions Professor wouldn't be aware of it if the struggle didn't produce some noise. Little wonder then that the track of the Heir of Slytherin was going absolutely and utterly nowhere.
Unfortunately, while a wise man would have recognised the problem faced by a certain Professor Snape and employed significant amount of manpower to the task, Albus Dumbledore had used a sort of weird logic-reversal before going gallivanting at another ICW congress. If the head of Slytherin House hadn't the time to do these extra-curricular duties during the school year, fine. Fortunately, these were why the winter holidays were for, weren't they?
A Professor like Flitwick, Sinistra or Sprout would have sent the Supreme Mugwump packing to have the audacity of ordering them like this. Give them more duties and forcing them to staying there during the holidays without paying them in return? Dumbledore would have faced a general insurrection of his teachers! But said wizards and witches were not at the mercy of the Headmaster. Should Flitwick decide one day to leave Hogwarts, there wasn't a lot the Defeater of Grindelwald could do to stop him. Severus Snape on the other hand, would not last a long time outside without the protection of the Headmaster of Hogwarts. No matter what the sheep of the Wizarding World thought, they were plenty of Death Eaters in liberty not regretting at all their crimes. Without the protection an ancestral manor could afford, the Potions Master would not last a week. Like it or not, Severus Snape was trapped at Hogwarts as long as Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort both died. And he did not like it.
"What I do in the name of your memory, Lily..." Sighed Severus Snape, a melancholic expression passing for an instant on his visage. Just an instant. His expression re-hardened the moment after. Lily Potter was long dead, killed by the fault of this imbecile and traitor James Potter, and he hadn't been able to do anything about it. Her daughter was forced to live the life of a paria...and that too he hadn't been able to do anything, because Dumbledore had forbidden him to intervene in any fashion in the Potter heiress' life. The Potions Master couldn't treat Sirius Black and his insufferable son like they deserved. The Boy-Who-Lived could not be expulsed from Hogwarts despite dozens of major incidents. Sometimes, he really regretted being alive and having to deal with several things at once, his role as a double-agent was most of the time the least problematic of the roles he had to play.
Descending the stairs, the Potions Masters threw a glance at the other moving methods of transportation inside the school. All were clear of any human and animal presence. Snape doubted the Headmaster had noticed, but counting the staff members and the students, they were exactly seventeen persons present at Hogwarts for Christmas. Any chance of the Heir of Slytherin striking before the end of the year was null. To do so would result in the Potions Master pumping the sixteen other persons so full of Veritaserum they would spill every secret from their birth to their death. Yes, Truth Serum administered in large quantities was fatal. No, the Head of Slytherin had no problem with it. Anyone who petrified people to support this stupid blood-purity policy deserved a very dolorous end when he or she would be caught.
Of course, that wasn't the only important thing Albus Dumbledore had missed, in Snape's opinion. The Chief Warlock was a master politician and an excellent orator, able to make the majority of the British witches and wizards he was the only choice as Leader of the Light. Yet, they were cracks in this apparent invincibility. As a teacher sitting at the Head table, the Potions Master had remarked how many young students were fixing the empty throne at breakfast, lunch and dinner. Some of them had fear, discontent, veneration, happiness in their gaze. But they were others. Others who had lights of ambition in their eyes. Teenagers who looked at the lone seat symbolising the highest position of Hogwarts...and wondered. With the enmity between Slytherin and Gryffindors spiralling out of control, Severus Snape felt it was only a matter of time before somebody challenged the Headmaster. The first attempt would not succeed, no matter what Lucius Malfoy thought. Dumbledore was simply too powerful, his control in the politics and system of alliances ruling Britain too absolute. But it was a start. And sometimes insignificant events had led to bigger changes worldwide...
28 December 1992, MacDougal Manor, Ireland
Christmas and Yule had passed and MacDougal Manor has emptied itself again. There had been long and silent wait during the night of the solstice where the entire MacDougal clan had been present, followed by fireworks, garlands, enchanted fairy lights, drinks and meals to profusion. The day of Christmas had been marked with joy and the opening of countless presents. Alexandra had received so many books from persons she hadn't spoken before she knew some would have to wait until summer break to be read. But now it was the twenty-eighth and the party was over. The large and imposing Christmas tree was still here, but the invitees were gone. Lord Glenn and Lady Isobel MacDougal had departed respectively for the Wizengamot and the Comet Trading Company headquarters, putting an end to Duelling and sword lessons. Apart from the house-elves in charge of the kitchens and the basic chores, the only occupants of the Manor were two twelve-year old girls, sitting in a massive living room in front of a chess set and listening to animated songs on the Wizarding Wireless Network.
"It's snowing again, Morag."
"You know, if you don't move this rook anytime soon, I'm going to put you into checkmate, Alexandra. Snow or not."
"I didn't peg you for the vengeful type." Sighed Alexandra with an exaggerated roll of shoulders. "Gifting me a chess game at Christmas to beat me at your leisure..."
"Me? Vengeful?" Laughed the red-haired Irish girl. "What should I want a pay back of?"
"Our duelling bouts perhaps?" Alexandra asked rhetorically raising an eyebrow. Since their arrival at MacDougal Manor, the two girls had practised a lot their offensive and defensive magical capabilities. Just on case the Heir of Slytherin decided they were acceptable targets or their group had to intervene in a perilous situation. Again. To this day, Alexandra was winning 78-30 in their duelling matches. Who knew this sort of magical paint-ball spell was so nasty used in close succession?
The sword lessons she had demanded – since by a strange turn of events Dumbledore had completely forbidden the uses of blade lessons inside Hogwart's walls – were even more one-sided. Not that Alexandra or Morag were going to be experts in that domain any time soon. Let's just say they could take swords now and not gut themselves in a false move.
"I'm not that petty." Smirked Morag. Meeting Alexandra's incredulous stare, the pure-blood Heiress modified her previous statement. "Maybe I am. But you have to admit it's a bit frustrating to be beaten so often. I was never trained by Professor Flitwick, me!" Despite her best efforts, Morag lacked precision and stamina to keep up with Alexandra for more than thirty seconds. The red-haired Ravenclaw had to finish the duel very quickly, or it was her black-haired opponent who triumphed. Only three times so far the red-haired witch had managed to surprise her in a minutes-long duel, and each time Morag had surprised Alexandra with advanced and esoteric spells the Potter heiress hadn't managed to evade in time.
"I'm not sure Professor Flitwick is responsible for everything." Remarked Alexandra. This time it was Morag's turn to make a doubtful grin. "I'm not denying it helped me a lot, but I have not had private lessons with our Head of House since May. Everything I learnt from this point, my new spells, my tactics and strategies are my own."
"But our Charms Professor gave you the foundations you needed." Countered her friend.
"Yes. But I was exercising well before we met in evasion skills, reflexes and endurance." Although it hadn't been how Alexandra had seen this when she was chased by Dursley and his band of brutes. "I was a little surprised in fact your parents didn't give you a tutorship in the subject. I mean, you told us several times your father was a solid duellist when he was young..."
"He was." Grimaced Morag. "But managing the familial businesses, ruling the MacDougal clan and dealing with the Wizengamot problems take all his time. I love my dad, but his positions have reduced our family time to almost nothing. He's here for the Sundays, two or three weeks during summer and the feasts like Christmas, New Year or Yule. You've seen how late he comes back in the evening. My dad is too tired to teach me anything, even less duelling lessons. It's my mom and Uncle Balor who tutored me before I went to Hogwarts, and they have never frequented the Duellist circuit."
"Is it something common for all pure-blood families?" Alexandra was honestly curious about this. Her childhood at the Dursleys with this sorry excuse of a pig for cousin had been so far from 'normal' it wasn't funny. On the other hand, the raven-haired twelve-year old had to admit there had not been a lot of time in her childhood the three overweight beings known as Vernon, Petunia and Dudley stayed apart for long. Every meal at Privet Drive was taken together either in the kitchen or in front of the television. 'Together' did not include her, of course.
"Only for the witches and wizards who do something besides being involved in politics like my father. You know Susan Bones of Hufflepuff?" At Alexandra's nod, Morag pursued. "Her aunt is the Director of Magical Enforcement, rules the finances of House Bones and is holding the family seat at the Wizengamot until Susan comes of age. I don't think she has much spare time."
"The more I know about politics, the less they sound attractive..." Whispered Alexandra.
"It's only the tip of the iceberg, I'm afraid." Shrugged the red-haired Ravenclaw, turning on her left to see the snow falling from the sky. "Feuds with other Houses, anti-creature and anti-magical laws who restrain our privileges. High officials and Wizengamot members selling their vote to the highest bidder. The Ministry is too willing to close their eyes when you support one of their pet projects like new Wing at Saint Mungo's."
"Thankfully, it is not my job to fix it."Alexandra frowned, seeing the dangerous look on the visage of her interlocutor. "What?"
"Don't joke about this. You are an Heiress of a Most Ancient House, Alexandra. It is your duty to ensure the laws of Wizarding Britain are applied and respected." Said Morag in a piercing and deadly serious tone.
"Err...not to contradict you, but me accessing to my seat when I turn to fifteen requires a majority vote of the Wizengamot. Vote I'm pretty sure is unwinnable, since all the Light Houses and quite a few Dark and Neutral Houses will vote against me. So I will most likely not be recognised as a full-member before I'm seventeen, and by the way things are going..."
"You are powerful. You can change things. The Morrigan wouldn't have appeared for you otherwise at Samhain."
Alexandra's look turned thoughtful. Inwardly, she was confused. The entity which had manifested itself on that very night had given her back her control of wandless magic, for which she was thankful. On the other hand, it had also given her weird flashes of things she hadn't the tiniest clue what they meant. Neither did Morag for that matter. The only certainty was the bloodshed and apocalyptic battles being fought. Not exactly helpful.
"I'm flattered by the confidence you have in me. But they're only four of us to stop the tide at Hogwarts. All our efforts will only be sand castles if other wizard and witches don't become aware of the dangers posed by the Ministry and Dumbledore's governance."
The two Heiresses looked at each other, trying to guess what the other one was thinking from an historical point of view and both arriving to the conclusion nothing good would be in store for the future if the situation was left unchecked.
"So?" Asked Morag. "Are you going to push that rook or should I declare victory?"
Alexandra grumbled, but moved her black chess piece to avoid checkmate. It was only a delaying tactic, though. Four exchanges later, one black bishop and two black pawns lost, the game was over.
"Perhaps you should ask Weasley to give you chess lessons?"
"Don't joke about that!"
30 December 1992, Ministry of Magic, London, England
"Order! Order in the courtroom!" Bellowed Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic for the British Isles. "This is the Wizengamot, not a bordello of Knockturn Alley! ORDER!" The sentence was pronounced in a somewhat martial tone, with large strikes of a wooden gavel against his desk.
No one in the Ministry Courtroom number 3 bothered to listen to him. Assuming the Lords, Ladies and other officials would have managed to listen to him in the multitude of screams, accusations, denials and protestations, it was possible they would have chosen to ignore him anyway. Cornelius Fudge was a well-known quantity and easily buyable when the occasion called for it. And as such, easily discarded by the wealthy and important pure-bloods busy vilipending their political opponents.
On his seat in the upper benches, Lord Glenn MacDougal watched the political disaster unfurling under his very eyes with an annoyed look. The Libertarian and Traditionalists groups were screaming at each other in anger, exchanging arguments which had nothing logical or reasoned. Thanks to the Magical Oaths, the Wizengamot Charter prevented every witches and wizards to use her or his wand in an official courtroom except under ceremonial purposes. It couldn't make them behave in a dignified manner unfortunately. Lord Nott and Lord Yarrow had tried to murder each other with their bare hands not thirty minutes ago and had nearly succeeded. What damage they could have done with their wands in a restricted space, the Head of the Most Noble and Ancient House MacDougal tried very hard not to think about. The rest of the assembly had also abandoned all partiality and dignity. Many of his fellow Neutrals were discussing or preparing their own proposals for the next sessions, ignoring the Pro-Muggle and Conservatives' recriminations.
Today had been supposed to be the session where the Muggle Protection Act of Arthur Weasley should have been voted. Originally scheduled for September, endless debates and quarrels between supporters of this bill and their opponents had delayed it far beyond Chief Warlock Dumbledore and Fudge's optimistic schedule. By the way things were unravelling, trying to pass the law now was going to be an impossibility until the political climate calmed up a bit. With the Dark Houses going to vote against no matter what, the Moderates votes in the Neutral block were more important than ever. Thanks to Merlin and Morgana, Albus Dumbledore had been unable to persuade more than a few independents and lone lords by words or more earth-to-earth incentives, and the Moderates were far from only the block composing the Neutrals. There was also his group, the widely derided 'Irish-Welsh Entente' - because said faction was led by his own House and House Slughorn of Wales – and together they formed a block of fifteen Houses. Then they were the Independents, who were a flexible mix of Houses varying from near-light like the Ancient House of Carrington to the truly infamous Most Noble House of Zabini. The latter two categories had withdrawn all support from the Light laws since June and returned the Grey-Neutrals to...a more neutral stance.
"Order! Order!" Continued Fudge, but his voice faded as the Wizengamot members energized arguments soared in a loud cacophony towards the upper balcony where a few idle onlookers stared at this picture of disgrace.
On the Minister's left, Amelia Bones was showing an emotionless expression to the rest of the world, a stern attitude supported by her red hair trimmed with gray and her monocle. Glenn knew like the rest of the Wizengamot that the interim Lady of the Noble and Ancient House of Bones held Dumbledore and Fudge guilty of the current chaos in the political arena. It wasn't like she had made any secret to it! But despite House Bones being counted among the Moderates, the powerful witch was too rigid and impartial for his taste, proof if there ever was one the centre of politics really attracted characters having no common policy. Of course, her impartiality towards any Wizengamot group was the reason she had stayed at her post for so long. If the little band of sycophants surrounding Albus Dumbledore at every occasion were not properly brought to account, the Traditionalists and the Conservatives would have demanded her head years ago. If the former Death Eaters and their Anti-Regulation friends were free to organise sabbat every night, the Libertarians and the Reformists would have had a field day, not to mention the Statute of Secrecy wouldn't have survived the aftermath of the last war.
Amelia Bones would never win any popularity contest, but she did her job – something few Department Heads could boast – and by all accounts, the majority of the lawbreakers during her mandate ended paying the price of their crimes. The Aurors, Hit-Wizards and the majority of the DMLE enforces stood with her. A good thing too, because Dumbledore and Malfoy had done their best to infiltrate her department and shift her funding for the most ridiculous reasons it was possible to think of.
"FINE!" Roared Fudge who had casted a Sonorus on himself and looked like he was going to have an attack of apoplexy if nobody called a healer in the newt minutes. "THE SESSION IS OVER! WE WILL CONTINUE THE DEBATE TOMORROW!"
As the crowd departed in angry mutterings, Morag's father watched the Chief Warlock with attention. Albus Dumbledore was looking at Cornelius Fudge with the gaze someone gave to their subordinates before firing them as they caused too much trouble. The Minister had been very friendly with Lucius Malfoy in the last months...the blonde-haired wizard in question was sallying out of the room with several senior figures of the Conservatives, Traditionalists and Anti-Regulations alliances. It was a noticeable change as the men notably suspected to have been part of the Death Eaters in the last conflict were rare in his surroundings. Too bad reading on the lips at this distance without Supersensory Charms was impossible. There were rumours about certain manoeuvres on Hogwarts' board of Governors which were...puzzling.
"What was the next thing we were supposed to speak about, by the way?" Lord MacDougal asked to Lord Catterick. The grey-haired wizard on his right was ruffling thorough an impressive column of parchments.
"Something about a new attempt to restart the Triwizard Tournament, I believe." Was the answer growled in a ruffled voice. "There's going to be a meeting in July or August between eight or nine European Schools."
"We haven't the budget for something like that. Not since Fudge pushed at the ICW that we wanted to organise the next Quidditch World Cup."
"Like it has stopped the Minister and our dear Chief Warlock before..." Chuckled Lord Slughorn on his way to the exit.
