Chapter 15 - The Ministry of Magic
London was slowly awakening under the overcast sky of a winter morning, the clock showing just after eight. The city was already teeming with the movement of passersby, mixing business people in formal attire with punks sporting colorful hair and hippies in extravagant clothes. The chilly air formed small clouds of vapor as pedestrians breathed, hurrying to their destinations.
Amidst this confusion of sounds and colors, an apparently out-of-place figure glided through the streets with the grace of a ballerina. Fleur Delacour, dressed in ballet attire, somewhat unusual for the urban setting. A light, flowing black skirt that revealed thick black tights underneath, white leg warmers knitted by her grandmother, and a fluffy coat. She passed unnoticed through the hurried crowd. Her hair, pulled back in a tight bun, was covered by a delicate net, and on her back, a white backpack let a piece of pink tutu skirt escape through the zipper.
While most people hurried along, she approached a decommissioned telephone booth. Strangely, that booth seemed to be the meeting point for a group of protesters who, despite the early hour, were already gathering with megaphones in hand and signs still turned around, without visible identification. Their presence, although atypical, didn't seem out of place amid the usual chaos of central London, where unexpected scenes blend into the everyday landscape.
Fleur approached the telephone booth with light and confident steps. Upon encountering the small group of protesters, she murmured a discreet "excuse me," passing unnoticed amid the growing hubbub. Without hesitation, she entered the old booth, which seemed abandoned and unused, except by curious tourists who occasionally used it to take photos.
Inside the booth, the sound of the city outside seemed to fade away, enveloped by a strange quiet. With an agile gesture, Fleur picked up the old telephone and dialed 62442, her fingers moving with familiarity. The booth, which before seemed immobile, began to transform. The walls vibrated softly, emitting a gentle glow that illuminated the small space.
In a matter of seconds, the booth began to descend, revealing that it was not just a forgotten tourist spot but a magical elevator that led to the heart of the wizarding world, hidden beneath the bustle of London. The descent was quick and silent, leaving behind the surface's agitation and revealing, little by little, the grand wizarding plaza, the nerve center of the Ministry of Magic.
When the booth finally stopped, its doors opened, giving access to a vast underground space, where witches and wizards moved in all directions. The plaza was dominated by a large fountain in the center, with statues of iconic figures from the wizarding world, and surrounded by majestic columns that supported the stone ceiling.
As soon as the doors opened, Fleur found herself facing a large demonstration in the plaza. Young wizards waved signs with incisive phrases: "Wizardry School for Wizards!", "No More Naps, Wake Up to the Problems!", and, provocatively, some displayed signs with the phrase "I'll Handle My Own Avada." The environment buzzed with shouts and slogans, as the movement of the protesters filled the plaza with energy and tension, transforming the normally imposing space of the Ministry of Magic into a stage of protest.
Fleur made her way through the crowd toward the Ministry of Magic, keeping her head held high and her gaze steady. As she advanced, a protester extended a Joseph Bolton button toward her, insisting that she accept it. Fleur politely declined, but the rejection did not go unnoticed. Immediately, some youths nearby began to boo her, expressing their displeasure. However, she was undeterred and pressed on, determined.
In the midst of the tumult, Fleur's eyes met those of Rita Skeeter, who, with a notebook and quill in hand, was attentively covering the event. Skeeter gave a slight nod in a discreet greeting, to which Fleur responded with a brief nod before returning her focus to her objective.
…
As Fleur continued on her way, Rita remained on the spot, growing increasingly impatient. Her fingers drummed rhythmically against the enchanted notepad, while time seemed to drag on unbearably. Adjusting her tortoiseshell glasses, she cast a quick glance at the watch on her wrist, realizing that each passing minute seemed to stretch into eternity.
— Come on, come on... — murmured Rita, apparently to herself. She knew that every second was precious, especially with Fleur inside the ministry on a crucial mission to steal information from within the Aurors' headquarters.
Rita looked around, observing the youths of the "Wizards for Tradition and Legacy" (WTL) who were crowding together, carrying signs and shouting slogans. She knew that group well. It was composed mostly of young wizards, idealistic and easily manipulated, but also extremely conservative. These youths were always ready to make a big fuss over any news that mentioned equality between wizards and Muggles. They saw any attempt at integration as a threat to the purity of wizarding blood and traditional values. Skeeter knew that when they were together and felt inflamed, it was only a matter of time before things got out of control.
…
Fleur Delacour entered the Atrium, the vast hall of the Ministry. The wizards who crossed there, hurried to their respective duties, could not avoid looking with surprise at the figure of Fleur, so distinct from the austere setting of the Ministry. However, her confident and proud demeanor showed that she was there for a clear purpose. She passed by the enchanted portraits that adorned the walls, which silently observed her passage. And she stood before the small guardhouse that gave access to the private elevator to the second floor of the Ministry of Magic, entirely dedicated to the Aurors.
The guardhouse was a small structure of dark wood, adorned with carvings of protective symbols and security charms. On the table, there was a variety of magical objects, such as a small silver sphere that glowed softly, used to detect unwanted magic, and an enchanted parchment that automatically recorded the entry and exit of visitors.
Fleur approached the guardhouse with a warm smile that seemed to light up the cold and austere environment. The doorman, a middle-aged man with graying hair, was stretching to get a better view of the demonstration outside when he suddenly came face to face with the unusual figure of the young witch. The unexpected presence of Fleur caught him by surprise, diverting his attention from the commotion outside.
— Bonjour, I am Fleur Delacour. I would like to speak with Ron Weasley, please — she said, her French accent adding a melodious touch to the words.
The doorman, clearly not used to receiving visitors like her, hesitated for a moment. His eyes quickly scanned Fleur's figure, from the flowing black skirt to the ballerina bun she wore. He blinked a few times before responding, still processing the unusual presence.
— One moment, I'll call Mr. Weasley — he said, trying to maintain composure, but unable to completely hide the discomfort in his voice.
Before he could move to activate the communication parchment, Fleur leaned slightly, fixing her eyes on his. Her blue eyes shone with a silvery touch, a subtle sign of her Veela magic being activated. Without saying a word, she sent a subtle current of magic through the air, enveloping the doorman in a sensation of comfort and trust.
— There's no need to announce me; I'm Ron Weasley's sister-in-law, and I know the way well — declared Fleur, her velvety voice laden with subtle Veela magic, each word imbued with an irresistible command that wove through the air, leaving the doorman completely submissive to her charm. — Besides, I don't need to leave my wand because I didn't bring one.
The doorman, now completely bewitched by Fleur's charm, gave a complacent smile, as if all that made perfect sense. His eyes, still locked on hers, reflected the fascination he couldn't disguise.
— I imagine you couldn't use a wand during ballet practice, could you? — he ventured, trying to keep the tone light despite the evident effect the Veela charm was causing.
Fleur smiled with an enchanting subtlety, taking advantage of the situation.
— Exactly — she replied softly, leaving the doorman even more entangled in her spell.
Under the irresistible charm, the doorman opened the elevator door, making a polite gesture for her to enter.
— Of course, miss, if you already know the way, you can go alone to the Aurors' Headquarters — he said, still enchanted, stepping back to allow her passage. — But I will need to check your backpack first — he added, in an almost mechanical effort to maintain formality.
Fleur nodded and, pretending to open the backpack, paused upon noticing that a piece of her pink tutu skirt was caught in the zipper. She cast a disappointed look at the doorman, as if silently asking for help. It was a calculated gesture, as she wanted to avoid using more Veela magic at the entrance to the Aurors' headquarters, where an experienced wizard might notice she was manipulating the situation with her magic.
— Oh, excuse me, it seems my skirt is caught in the zipper. Just a moment; I need to open it carefully so it doesn't tear — said Fleur, while pretending to delicately struggle to free the trapped fabric.
The doorman, totally captivated by the delicacy and the curious scene before him, responded with a smile:
— Don't worry; I wouldn't want you to ruin your beautiful outfit. You may proceed.
— Thank you very much for your understanding — Fleur beamed, passing through the portal and proceeding down the corridor with the natural elegance of a ballerina. The doorman, still perplexed by the unusual scene, remained standing for a moment before returning to his usual tasks.
While the doorman turned his attention back to the protesters, Fleur settled on the bench against the side wall near the elevators, pretending to adjust her leg warmers with practiced calm. Discreetly, she placed the backpack on the floor and, skillfully, used her feet to push it under the bench, hiding it from view.
A slight sigh of nervousness escaped her lips as she heard the bell announcing the arrival of the elevator. As soon as the doors opened, Fleur quickly entered and pressed the button for the second floor. When the doors closed, a small smile of satisfaction appeared on her face. Her plan had worked perfectly, and she continued on, confident that she was one step closer to her goal.
…
Observing the great agitation of the youths in front of the Ministry of Magic, a malicious smile appeared on Rita's lips. She recalled with satisfaction the clever trick she had orchestrated a few days before. The draft of a fake article, carefully planted in a folder "forgotten" on purpose at the bar frequented by the youths of the WTL, was producing the desired effect. "Wilma Dean to allocate 50% of Hogwarts slots to Muggles," the fabricated news was spreading rapidly, inflaming the spirits of the conservative youths, exactly as Rita had predicted. The true genius of the plan, however, lay in the precise blend of lies and truth: the strategic inclusion of the true information that Minister Wilma Dean would be taking a break from her campaign and would be at the Aurors' Headquarters that morning.
This would be the perfect scenario for Fleur's plans, a skillfully crafted smokescreen. As Rita had anticipated, the youths of the WTL, now inflamed by the supposed reform of the Minister, quickly organized a demonstration in front of the Ministry of Magic. The trap had been set, and Rita delighted in seeing how her words could manipulate events so easily. After all, few people understood as well as she did that the best way to make someone believe a lie was to season it with a bit of truth.
…
When the elevator doors opened, Fleur entered the Atrium of the second floor, the stronghold of the Aurors' headquarters. The sound of her shoes reverberated through the marble corridors. As she advanced, her gaze captured the imposing doors and the walls adorned with ancient tapestries and portraits of renowned wizards, who seemed to watch her in silence.
Finally, Fleur reached the corridor that led to the Aurors' room, a wide space organized with several tables arranged in meticulous rows. A glass wall allowed a clear view of the interior, where the intense activity of the Aurors contrasted with Fleur's calculated serenity. She discreetly waved to Ron, who, upon noticing her through the glass, frowned in confusion, leaving his post to approach.
— Fleur? What are you doing here? — inquired Ron as he left the room, his brow furrowed in a mixture of surprise and concern.
Fleur cast a quick glance at the room behind Ron, where a dozen Aurors were gathered around maps and parchments. Her determination wavered for a brief moment; carrying out her plan with all of them there would be a daunting task, perhaps even impossible.
— Ron, I need to talk to you. It's important — replied Fleur, her voice sweet but laden with a firmness that left no room for questioning.
Ron cast a quick glance at his table, where the map of Azkaban, the reason that had brought Fleur there, lay open. Fleur managed to perceive lines and marks on the map from a distance, but couldn't distinguish the letters and numbers that stood out on the aged parchment.
— With me? Of course, Fleur! It's so good to see you after such a long time — he said, trying to disguise his discomfort with a somewhat sad smile.
The sight of the map on Ron's table made Fleur's heart race. She had imagined that the map would be displayed on a wall, where it would suffice for her to gaze at it for a few seconds to obtain the information she needed. But there, on Ron's table, meant that he would probably store it in a drawer soon. And breaking into a drawer in the Aurors' headquarters would undoubtedly be a serious crime. She knew she would have to use her magic to convince Ron to grant her access to the room.
At that moment, six Aurors left the main room, casting curious glances at her as they ran toward the stairs. She felt a chill upon realizing that the plan was proceeding as agreed. Rita had incited the half-witted youths of the WTL, causing a group of Aurors to be assigned to go there. And possibly Lucius should be entering the building as well, at any moment. They were fulfilling their parts; it was up to her to adapt the plan and fulfill her own part.
…
As the crowd of young protesters grew increasingly agitated in front of the Ministry of Magic, Rita Skeeter discreetly approached the group. She observed the growing chaos with a malicious gleam in her eyes, satisfied with the turn of events. She knew she was about to deliver the final blow to ensure that her plan unfolded as expected.
Upon approaching a group of young wizards from the WTL, who were fervently discussing Wilma Dean's "reforms," Rita feigned an expression of surprise. Bringing her hand to her mouth, as if she had just noticed something extraordinary, she exclaimed loudly enough for everyone around to hear:
— I can't believe it! It's Wilma Dean! What audacity!
Rita's words were like a match lighting a fuse. The youths, already inflamed by the fake news she had planted days before, reacted instantly. Shouts of indignation began to echo through the Wizards' Plaza. Some more heated wizards activated sonic bombs, causing deafening sounds to explode around.
Confusion took over the place. Eager wizards turned in the direction Rita had pointed, searching for the Minister they believed was present. The agitation intensified with each second, with the youths pushing each other and waving their wands in the air.
Rita, with a satisfied smile, stepped back slightly to observe the turmoil she had caused. It was the perfect distraction for her plans to unfold without interruptions. She knew that the chaos in the Wizards' Plaza would force the Aurors to reinforce security at the main entrance of the Ministry, diverting attention from the events that were about to occur in the shadows of the building.
…
Taking advantage of the turmoil that seethed in the Wizards' Plaza, Lucius Malfoy walked decisively through the internal entrance that led to the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, avoiding the agitated crowd with the precision of an experienced strategist. His steps echoed firmly on the polished marble floor, each stride marked by the confidence of someone who had walked those same corridors countless times.
He raised his gaze to the imposing ceiling, its high and intricate arches gleaming under magical light, an architecture meant to inspire reverence. However, in Lucius's eyes, there was only a mix of worn familiarity and contained disdain. As an influential member of the Wizarding Council, Lucius was a constant figure in the most heated debates and in the votes that shaped the destiny of the magical community. But today, as he crossed the Atrium, Lucius felt something different. He knew that every movement, every word, would be crucial in the unfolding of that day's events.
With an unperturbed expression, Lucius approached the doorman, who seemed somewhat pleased to engage in a bit of gossip. The man put down a small crystal globe on the table, which he had used to communicate something to the Aurors.
— Excuse me, sir — he said, with a slight smile on his lips. — I was informing the Aurors that they need to come down to calm the crowd outside. Things are getting interesting, if I may say so.
As he raised his eyes and recognized the imposing figure of Lucius Malfoy, the doorman's smile briefly faded into an expression of surprise before recomposing himself. Lucius, for his part, maintained his proud posture, although the irritation at having to submit to the security procedures, which he knew would be necessary, was evident in his features. However, he knew that behind that bureaucratic ritual, he was advancing a crucial piece on the board, like a chess master who carefully prepares the ground for checkmate. So Lucius stared at the doorman with a look of impatience, mingled with calculated confidence, and waited for the doorman, still hesitant, to demand that he leave his magical items, already anticipating the next step of his scheme.
— M-Mr. Malfoy... t-to what do we owe your visit? — stammered the doorman, trying in vain to maintain composure before the imposing figure in front of him.
— I am being investigated in an important case and would like to speak with the responsible Aurors — announced Lucius with a firm and authoritative tone, his words carrying the force of someone accustomed to being obeyed.
The doorman, visibly nervous under the weight of Lucius's imposing presence, responded promptly:
— Y-Yes, sir. I'll inform them. But... you will need to leave your wand and any magical objects in the security vault.
Lucius gave an ironic smile, a reflection of his disdain for that formality. With deliberate movements, he slowly removed a green stone ring from his finger, and then his wand.
— I know the procedures — he said, handing the items to the doorman, his disdainful gaze making clear how much that irritated him.
The doorman, with slightly trembling hands, accepted Lucius's objects and carefully stored them in a small security vault in the guardhouse.
The doorman, visibly embarrassed, hesitated for a moment before speaking:
— I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy, but I need to ask you to step forward and open your arms — he requested, almost in a whisper, while holding his wand with slightly trembling hands. — I have to check if there are other magical items on your person.
Lucius, with a sigh of contained irritation, stepped forward and opened his arms, allowing the doorman to carry out the procedure.
— All set, Mr. Malfoy; now I must call an Auror to come and get you — said the doorman, still with a hint of hesitation in his voice. However, before he could take any initiative, a detachment of six Aurors came running down the side stairs, toward the agitated crowd outside. The doorman, in a desperate gesture, shouted to the passing Aurors:
— Hey, Auror! Please, come back here!
Bruna Nichols and Gabriel Lourd, visibly impatient, turned abruptly upon hearing the call, expressions of irritation stamped on their faces.
— What is it now? — began Bruna, but her sentence died in her throat when her eyes landed on Lucius Malfoy. Surprise mixed with a quick assessment of the situation, and the initial irritation gave way to a serious and cautious expression. Gabriel, in turn, adopted a firm posture beside Bruna, also absorbing the unexpected presence of the influential wizard.
— Mr. Malfoy, what brings you here? — questioned Gabriel, his voice laden with contained respect, while Bruna cast a furtive glance at the doorman, clearly disconcerted by the sudden change of scene.
The doorman, still feeling the crushing weight of Lucius Malfoy's presence, saw the opportunity before him and, with a mix of deference and anxiety in his voice, addressed Nichols and Lourd:
— Mr. Nichols, Mr. Lourd, could you please accompany Mr. Malfoy to the Aurors responsible for the case in which he is being investigated?
Nichols and Lourd exchanged a significant look before silently agreeing. Without wasting time, they positioned themselves beside Lucius, fully aware of the gravity of the situation.
As they walked, Lourd made a motion to press the elevator button, but Nichols quickly interrupted him, her voice firm:
— I prefer to take him by the stairs.
Lucius gave a slight smile, but laden with irony, and commented:
— I don't bite, Miss Nichols.
She maintained a serious expression, without being shaken, and responded coldly:
— It's good that you don't, Mr. Malfoy, for my wand is ready for any eventuality.
— As you wish; in any case, it's good to stretch one's legs a bit before an interrogation.
Without further words, the three began to climb the stairs, their steps echoing in the tense silence of the corridor. With each step, the atmosphere seemed to grow heavier, as if the very air carried the anticipation of what was to come.
…
When Fleur and Ron entered the room, their presence caught the attention of the Aurors gathered there, who immediately turned, watching every movement attentively. At the back of the room, Moody, with his piercing gaze, analyzed the situation, clearly suspicious of Fleur's presence in a place where she shouldn't be. Attending to Fleur's request, Ron promptly fetched a glass of water and handed it to her. Then, carefully, he picked up the map and stored it in a drawer, closing and locking it with a key.
— There. Let's go — said Ron, trying to disguise the tension in his voice.
However, at the moment when he prepared to remove the key from the drawer, Fleur let out a small exclamation, already decided on what to do. Her heart was beating fast, not from fear of her own ability, but from the challenge that the proximity of experienced wizards like Alastor Moody represented.
She had already proven that her magic would not be detected in that environment, but Moody, at the back of the room, was an Auror of another level. Even meters away, he could perceive the subtle vibrations in the air or catch a nuance in her voice that would betray the use of magic. Aware of the risk of attracting unwanted attention from someone so perceptive, Fleur turned her back to the other Aurors and chose to attempt a visual command on Ron, hoping the old Auror wouldn't notice.
— Oh, Ron, could you check if there's something in my eye? It seems something got in — requested Fleur, with a soft and engaging voice. Ron approached immediately, concern etched on his face, and his eyes fixed on Fleur's. At the moment when the silvery glow of Veela magic intensified, he was overtaken by an irresistible fascination. His movements became slow, and any vestige of rational thought dissolved in the hypnotic depth of Fleur's gaze. He was completely enchanted, unable to avert his eyes, trapped in a web of enchantment that enveloped him more and more, with no escape.
— They seem perfect to me — murmured Ron, with a tone of voice that overflowed with adoration.
Fleur, feeling a mix of relief and adrenaline, smiled, satisfied with the reaction.
— Then let's go to tea — she said, extending her arm.
Ron, completely enchanted, accompanied her, leaving the key in the drawer. Fleur smiled inwardly, knowing she had secured the access she needed, as she followed Ron out of the Aurors' room.
As Ron and Fleur were heading to leave the Aurors' room toward the tea house, an imposing figure appeared at the entrance, blocking their way. It was Alastor Moody, with his piercing gaze and the expression of someone who was not easily fooled.
— Miss Delacour, have you perhaps become an Auror for our delight and they forgot to inform me? — said Moody, his grave and hoarse voice echoing down the corridor like distant thunder. His eyes, one of them the famous magical eye, fixed on Fleur with a disconcerting intensity. He continued — It would be very useful to have at our disposal the Veela magics you keep so well guarded. I imagine there are many secrets you'd rather not share with the rest of us mere wizards.
Moody advanced a bit more, his inquisitive gaze trying to uncover every hidden intention. Fleur maintained her composure, though a chill ran down her spine.
Fleur kept the determination with which she had arrived, raised her chin, and with a serious tone, declared:
— When Ron Weasley applied for the Auror position, I also considered following the same path. But at that time, the idea of a Veela fighting crime was ridiculed, sir.
Alastor Moody, furious, raged:
— I'd like to know who the idiot was who did that. Only a fool would underestimate a Veela!
Before Fleur could respond, Ron Weasley stepped forward, positioning himself beside her with determination. His eyes fixed on Moody, and his posture was resolute.
— Fleur is my sister-in-law, sir — declared Ron, his voice firm. — She is here to deal with a family matter.
Moody, still with his eyes fixed on Fleur, allowed his tone to soften for a brief moment.
— Family matter, is it? — murmured Moody, the distrust evident in his grave voice. — I hope it's quick then. We have work to do. — He paused and, turning his attention completely to Fleur, added: — And Delacour! If you still consider the position, I would personally endorse your candidacy.
A wave of satisfaction coursed through Fleur. After years of feeling undervalued by the wizarding community, in a matter of days, she had been recognized by Lucius Malfoy and Alastor Moody. As she watched Moody walk away, a disturbing doubt began to form in her mind: Was all that real? Or was Moody just trying to deceive her with pleasant words because he suspected something? A pang of concern crossed her chest, making her heart momentarily accelerate. However, now that didn't matter. She needed to proceed with her plan.
As Fleur linked arms with Ron, ready to leave, Auror Bruna Nichols appeared running down the corridor, her expression grave and urgent.
— Mr. Moody, Lucius Malfoy has just presented himself for a statement. I think he's going to confess — exclaimed Nichols, breathless.
With most of the Aurors occupied monitoring the demonstration, only a few were still in the room. As soon as Lucius Malfoy's name was mentioned, the few who remained stood up immediately, hurrying toward the entrance. Ron, torn between his duty and the fear of disappointing Fleur, who had sought him after so long, gave her a look full of apologies, completely uncomfortable with the situation.
— Fleur, I'm sorry, but I'm deeply involved in this case. Can we talk later?
Fleur smiled, feigning frustration.
— Of course, Ron. Don't worry. I know the way back.
Ron nodded quickly before joining the other Aurors, leaving Fleur alone in the corridor. She watched as they all moved away toward the interrogation room, taking advantage of the brief moment of solitude to take a deep breath. She knew this was her opportunity to act. Discreetly, she returned to Ron's desk, where the key still rested in the drawer, waiting to reveal the secret she so desperately sought.