FicWad

Chapter 5 : Duality




“Is this really necessary?” Harry asked nervously, as he straightened the formal dress robe Croaker had delivered earlier in the day – black with narrow green borders on the front; it was vaguely reminiscent of Dumbledore's robes in cut, if not as hard on the eyes without all the glitter. “It's just a tour, I won't be attending any balls.” Harry said dryly.




Croaker chuckled good-naturedly, giving a critical look towards Harry's messy mop of hair, which had one again refused to respond to any attempt at controlling it. “You will be escorted through the Ministry of Magic, at the request of the Minister himself. You can hardly show up wearing muggle rags or aschool robe, now can you?”




Harry thought back to Dudley's clothing that was still stashed in his trunk and shuddered at how accurate Croaker was in his description. He didn't feel Dudley's hand-me-downs would impress the Minister for Magic very much. “I suppose you must be right. Still, I feel like I'll stand out. I'm already the bloody Boy-Who-Lived to them, I hardly need to look like a Malfoy too.”




“This is a publicity occasion, as you well know, mister Potter,” Croaker replied. “There will most likely be some media attention – pictures will be taken, even if there's no formal conversation with the press. You will be representing the Ministry from now on, so it is imperative that out in public, you are presentable.”




Harry nodded, gulping. He was used to having media attention – even if he hated it – but he felt this might be a whole new type. The Minister for Magic clearly had this all figured out, though. He desperately hoped that having an Unspeakable along would ward off some of the journalists, though he had no illusions about avoiding Rita Skeeter.




“I am stepping out, Mr. Potter,” Croaker announced, grumbling. “I will make a quick stop at your Potions Professor. Please remain here.”




Harry and the Unspeakable had borrowed Professor Flitwick's office for a moment – the diminutive professor hadn't even seemed surprised at the Unspeakable commandeering it. It was a mere two days after he'd let the Unspeakable know he'd be joining the Department of Mysteries, and already rumours were everywhere in the hallways, if terribly vague. Harry had heard of him becoming the Minister's new aide, a dragon tamer (presumably because of the first task of the Triwizard Tournament,) and everything in between.




Harry secretly rather liked his new robe – it was of far better quality than any of his others and rather comfortable – but he self-consciously checked himself in the mirror again; he'd silenced it, as its compliments merely made him more nervous. Harry figured he'd be getting some of the flowing baggy robes that Croaker wore when he got to do actual work.




“Mister Potter,” a voice said from behind him – an unknown voice. Harry whipped around – Croaker had warded the room thoroughly and it shouldn't have allowed strangers to enter. His wand was in his hand in an instant and pointed at the new arrival.




The man that strolled in unconcernedly looked rather like an old lion. There were streaks of grey in his mane of tawny hair and his bushy eyebrows, he had keen yellowish eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and a certain rangy, loping grace even though he walked with a slight limp.




“Do I know you?” Harry asked suspiciously, his wand already in his hand.




The man chuckled happily, and shook his head merrily. “I do hope you will be less jumpy when we arrive in the Ministry. We can't have you assaulting or threatening the staff, now can we?”




“Croaker?” Harry asked with a blink, lowering his wand a fraction. Only one explanation came to mind. “Did you use Polyjuice Potion?”




“A good guess,” Croaker said, his eyes twinkling in a rather Dumbledore-like fashion behind his glasses. “There are several reasons for this little deception – I assure you, it is completely authorized – although I would appreciate it if you didn't alert anyone.”




“Whose form did you take? I thought you Unspeakables hid your face anyway?” Harry wondered, realizing that soon enough it wouldn't be 'you Unspeakables' but'us'.




“This would be the form of the most illustrious Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour,” Croaker announced, standing proudly. “I'm afraid that the Minister has requested this little subterfuge as he has pressing engagements elsewhere – I'm sure you can imagine his many duties – and someone needed to fill this role. Since we don't know exactly who will notice, it's best that I fit the same physical description throughout any observations.”




“Why you, though?” Harry asked, bewildered. “You'll be wearing those big cowled robes, nobody will know who it is anyway.”




“There are quite a number of people that know the Minister for Magic's voice, Mr. Potter,” the disguised Croaker said with a smirk. “Besides that, there will undoubtedly come the time to strategically lose my disguise – just in time for a picture for tomorrow's Prophet.”




“Why would you want it to be in the paper that you were hiding out with me? Especially if you're impersonating the Minister for Magic?”




Croaker chuckled, shrugging. “Several rumours have been going around the Ministry – the most popular alleges that the Minister for Magic himself is escorting a new high-profile member of the Ministry through all departments for aquick tour. Your presence in the Ministry will doubtlessly be connected to this rumour. It is a fairly credible rumour, given that the Minister is well-known as being a former auror who took an interest in recruits. An accidental confirmation of the rumour will be beneficial.”




“Rumours go around as quickly as they do in Hogwarts,” Harry said, amazed.




“I spread the rumour, Mr. Potter,” Croaker said with a slight smile, “With authorization of course. Minister Scrimgeour was most amenable to my idea, you'll find, as it will ensure that you receive positive press– the Prophet won't dare to slander the Minister – and it gives him a useful alibi.”




“The Minister needs an alibi,” Harry said with a smile, “Figures even he gets tired of all the rule sometimes.”




“I'm assured his plans are quite important,” Croaker said carefully, “That's hardly our chief concern at this time. It's still early – we can get to the Ministry just after the morning rush, hopefully avoiding the largest crowds entirely. You will have a brief meeting with, well, myself -” Croaker smirked, waving at himself. “I'll switch with my other self there, as far as the staff goes. We'll go by the various departments thereafter. You'll most likely come into contact with most of the Departments in due time, as they're all interconnected. Especially the Department you're joining.”




Harry nodded, pocketing his wand. “I suppose we should be going, then. Do we have to warn anyone that we're going?”




“Headmaster Dumbledore and your friends have been informed of your departure – they are expecting you back the coming weekend for a small celebration, as Iunderstand. I would rather dissuade you from elaborate goodbye-gestures; it'll merely make things difficult.”




Harry nodded as he strode out of the office towards the entrance hall – Croaker was close behind. Little was said along the way and there were very few students in the halls. Croaker's cowled form didn't invite anyone to take up aconversation in any case. When outside, Harry wistfully looked back at the castle as they stepped on the road towards Hogsmeade – it remained a beautiful place and its spired glittered in the early sun. He'd probably not come back here as a student for a while – if at all.




“It's been a privilege,” Harry muttered, a thin smile on his face, thinking back on his many adventures here. He should get too caught up – he'd be back within the week, after all.




Draco Malfoy, his long-time school enemy, was watching him leave. The Slytherin was standing just outside the entrance hall doors in an oddly stiff posture. Harry didn't have time to think about it further, as apparently they'd reached the edge of the castle's defensive wards – with a sickening feeling like being squeezed through a tube that was far too tight, a short moment in which breathing was entirely impossible, Harry vanished.






“Blimey!” Harry muttered as he worked himself back to his feet, brushing dust off his new robe.“That was quite a ride. Could you warn me next time when you do that?”




“Apparition can be somewhat uncomfortable to the beginner,” Croaker said shortly, glancing at a small pocket watch. “You will doubtlessly get lessons soon enough – all Ministry employees are mandated to know basic apparition. The sensation will become quite commonplace.”




Harry shook himself again, blinking wildly. “I think I'm all right.”




The disguised Croaker nodded, and pulled his Unspeakable cloak closely around himself, his face already well-hidden. The two of them were standing besides the very entryway that Harry had used mere months ago to break into the Ministry on aquest to save Sirius. Croaker stepped into the phone booth first, leaving space for Harry.




As the dial whirred smoothly back into place from inserting the combination, a cool female voice sounded inside the telephone box, not from the receiver, but as loudly and plainly as though an invisible woman were standing right beside them."Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."




“Harry Potter, appointment with the Minister for Magic, as well as a tour.” Croaker said impatiently.




There was a click and a rattle, and Harry saw something slide out of the metal chute where returned coins usually appeared. He picked it up: it was a square golden badge with'Harry Potter, VIW' written on it. He pinned it to the front of his T-shirt as the female voice spoke again. "Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."




“Figures they don't have you registered yet. This entrance is always terribly slow,” Croaker complained, as the box, shuddering, descended into the floor.“Unspeakables have their own apparition point so that we can arrive and leave covertly, and most employees simply flush themselves here.”




“Flush?” Harry inquired, as the Atrium came into view.




“Via public toilet,” Croaker explained and Harry paled. “Oh, don't worry – it's quite hygienic. Certainly less nauseating than the public floo.”




"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day," said the woman's voice. The door of the telephone box sprang open and Croaker stepped briskly out of it, followed by Harry.




They were standing at one end of a very long and splendid hall with a highly polished, dark wood floor; Harry recognized it immediately from his previous visits. The peacock blue ceiling was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols that kept moving and changing like some enormous heavenly noticeboard. Several scorch marks marred it, though – several wizards in grey robes were floating nearby on brooms, their wands pointing at the spots and releasing brightly coloured spells, though their spells seemed to be bouncing off the marred ceiling more often than not.




Halfway down the hall were the remains of the fountain that Dumbledore had animated last year. A group of golden statues, larger than life-size, had stood there in the middle of a circular pool. A noble-looking wizard with his wand pointing straight up in the air, Harry remembered – he was sure there'd also been a house-elf and goblin. Now, there was little more than the broken remnant of a few feet and the ghastly sight of a detached arm prodding upward as if reaching for the ceiling. From somewhere besides the statue the pops and cracks of apparition and the clatter of footsteps resounded, though Harry couldn't make out where it came from.




Croaker led him across the middle of the room, winding his way between the Ministry workers, many of whom were apparently studying the latest issue of the Daily Prophet. As they passed the fountain Harry saw that the water was gone, and only a few knuts remained at its bottom. A small sign declared that the fountain would be rebuilt as soon as someone capable of reshaping it was found. Harry was sure Dumbledore would be unwilling to rebuild it as it had been.




"Follow, Mr. Potter," said Croaker in that harsh voice, as Harry had fallen behind. Seated at adesk to the left of the hall beneath a sign that proclaimed“Security”, a wizard in peacock blue robes looked up as they approached and put down his Daily Prophet.




"I'm escorting a visitor," said Croaker. “He has an urgent appointment.”




The wizard held up a long golden rod, thin and flexible, and passed it up and down Harry's front and back. Harry had the strangest feeling he'd done this before. The object was undoubtedly a secrecy sensor, he decided.


“Wand," grunted the security wizard at Harry, putting down the golden instrument and holding out his hand. The wizard dropped it on to a brass set of scales with one dish and it began to vibrate - A narrow strip of parchment came speeding out of a slit in the base. "Eleven inches, phoenix-feather core, been in use four or five years. That correct? Hey, wait...”




“That's right.” Harry said, his eyes lighting up. “I remember you! You did this same thing when I was here for my bogus trial!”




“Mr. Potter, so very nice to meet you,” the man said, as he spied Harry's visitor badge. “I didn't get the opportunity to thank you for your services last time, so since you're here now...” The man shook Harry's hand enthusiastically. “I have heard many rumours – if they're true, I wish you welcome.”




“Thank you, Mister...?” Harry fished, smiling slightly and forcing himself not to retreat.




“Oh, name's Meryn. Alastor told me all about you,” the man enthused. “Well, strictly speaking he didn't actually mention who he was talking about, but Ithink my guess was pretty good.”




“Give Moody my regards,” Harry said, as he stepped back, grabbing his wand.




“He's visiting the Department of Magical Law Enforcement today, you'll probably run into him on the way up,” Meryn said, eyeing the 'VIW' on Harry's badge. “I figure you're on your way up to Level 1? Very Important Wizarding business, eh?”




“That's quite enough out of you,” Croaker said dismissively, glaring at the wizard who seemed like he'd ask for an autograph any moment. “Let's get going, Mr. Potter.”




Harry quickly followed Croaker as the Unspeakable moved away at his previous brisk pace. Croaker had grabbed a small bottle from his robes and was sipping it. “You'll find quite a few people here are familiar with Alastor Moody – not all of them are trustworthy. Some of them merely know him since they've been caught by the old bastard.”




Harry snorted as they made their way through the golden doorways and into a small room in which ended no less than twenty elevators. Croaker made for the only one that wasn't lit up, and which didn't have any queue near it. With a flourish of his wand, it slid open, admitting the two of them only.




“One of the perks of being in the Department of Mysteries.” Croaker explained, as the lift started to ascend. “The Department of Magical Law Enforcement also has access though they don't generally use the elevators. They've got their own apparition points to use as well.”




“I can just use this elevator whenever I wish?” Harry asked as it began to rise – unlike the normal elevators, there were merely several dozen blinking lights along the side – this elevator wasn't travelling constantly to pick up and drop off passengers, but controlled from within. Croaker had tapped the second button from the top, and the elevator rose swiftly.




“There's a non-verbal spell involved, that incorporates a personalized password for every user. Any use of the elevator is registered downstairs, including any wand signatures – much the same as the security wizard checked earlier – so we can be sure it's secure. I doubt you can even do non-verbal magic at this point, so it's a moot point for now. You wouldn't want to be shouting your password, after all.”




With a screech the elevator came to ahalt, though there had been no sensation of movement at all. Croaker pulled his cowl back from his face and took a deep breath, pulling ahand through his borrowed mane. “That's better.”




The door slid open soundlessly, opening up to a sizeable office containing a large mahogany desk and a large red-backed chair that had carved hippogriffs all across its sides – the office was slightly rounded and on the dark red walls were alarge number of important-looking documents and a handful of gleaming silver blades hanging by their hilts. Behind the desk was a rather recognizable man – the very same man that was presently right besides him – the Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, drinking a fresh cup of coffee.




“Welcome, Mr. Potter,” Scrimgeour said with a smile that looked remarkably dangerous. “I'm afraid I cannot spend much time you today - I do hope you will enjoy your time here. I'll take this as my cue to leave.” he stood up, and Harry arched an eyebrow.




“We have nothing to discuss?” Harry inquired confusedly as the Minister made his way to the elevator Harry had just vacated. “I figured with you requesting a meeting...” Harry gulped, realizing he was being rather rude.“I'm sorry, I was just curious.”




“No problem,” Scrimgeour said with a shrug. “I requested you here to make sure nobody, not even my staff, suspected that I was replaced. My assistant – he's in the next room, young Weasley fellow, I understand you're afriend of the family – if he doesn't realize it, I'm good. Itrust you've kept out of the public eye so far?”




Croaker answered affirmatively. “Ran into Meryn downstairs, but he didn't recognize the voice, luckily. Nobody else even looked at me funny, though I'm sure Mr. Potter was recognized.”




“We will meet again later today, Mr. Potter,” Scrimgeour said, nodding as he stepped into the elevator. “Keep yourself safe, now.”




“What a peculiar fellow, eh?” Croaker asked with amusement, as the Minister vanished from view.




“I wouldn't know,” Harry answered honestly. “I've barely met the man. I suppose he's agood step up from Fudge, though.”




Croaker grinned slightly, which looked particularly vicious on the borrowed face of the Minister. “Let's meet the Minister's aide, then. I take it you are already familiar with him.”




“I didn't know Percy still had such a high job at the Ministry,” Harry admitted, thinking back on the events of last year. “I figured he'd get demoted after Fudge's fall from grace.”




“Although Mr. Weasley has his flaws, you give him too little credit,” Croaker noted airily.“Your headmaster may have his suspicions on the reason he was placed in such a high position – and I dare say he may be right– but the fact is he filled the position admirably. Minister Scrimgeour would never have held him on if that weren't the case.”




“I should tell Mrs. Weasley that sometime,” Harry said, sadly. “He's been really distant with his whole family ever since Fudge and Dumbledore got into arow.”




“Really?” Croaker said, sniffing. “I'll keep an eye on it if you wish – we don't need any families broken before war's even properly begun, now do we?”




Harry and Croaker stepped out into the hallway, where Percy immediately sprang to his feet. Croaker still had his cowl down and immediately took a regal stance, looking down on Percy through his glasses with a look that allowed no criticism.




“Good to see you, Perce.” Harry said with a friendly smile, trying to come across amiably. Perhaps in the presence of the minister he'd actually get a decent response.




“Harry Potter. Didn't figure I'd see you with the Minister,” Percy replied, seemingly forgetting his boss was standing right next to him. Percy actually seemed – relaxed. In Percy, that was positively weird.




“I will be escorting Mister Potter through the Ministry. There are three aurors shadowing us and we will not be leaving the building, which should minimize any risk – As you can see I'm also disguised. I will not be needing you for the next few hours.”




“Will Potter be disguised as well?” Percy asked warily. “He'll stir up more trouble than you could on your own, considering all the coverage in the papers.”




“I'm afraid hiding Mr. Potter will be relatively inconsequential, given that he is expected to work here starting – well – today.” Croaker answered,“Isn't that right, Mr. Potter?”




“Seems we'll be colleagues of akind,” Harry answered with a smile. “I'll be working somewhere downstairs though, I'm sure. Probably won't see each other much.”




“I would hesitate to be so certain, Mr. Potter. I have no doubt you'll be seeing quite a bit of me,” Croaker said softly, winking.




“What Department?” Percy asked, raising an eyebrow. “Considering your Quidditch success, are you taking up Ludo Bagman's old position? Though I hear it's been filled already. I don't see why they'd ask a student, either...”




“Mr. Potter will be joining the Department of Mysteries,” Croaker said, sounding quite kingly indeed – even proud. “He has been personally invited by myself and several highly placed operatives among the Unspeakables. Iexpect it will be in the papers by tomorrow.”




“The Department of Mysteries!” Percy gasped, his eyes wide. “I hope you know what you're getting into, Potter. I hear people vanish in their Department. Never seen again.”




“Nonsense, nonsense,” Croaker said, waving it off. “I'm sure he will fit in quite nicely. There's several projects that I feel Mr. Potter's skills will be of use in already. There is a degree of secrecy involved, of course.”




“Does Ron know?” Percy asked softly, surprising Harry. “He has more right to know what you're up to than me.”




Ron nodded, looking at Percy with some pity. “You should just talk to them, Percy.” Harry said, but he noted that the older Weasley brother had his jaw set. “They miss you.”




“We'll see,” he said, and turned away. “I'll reorganize your desk so you may use it more effectively, Minister. Please keep an eye on the time – you do have other appointments today.”




“Of course, Weasley.” Croaker said as he led Harry away through the corridors, towards the staircases that connected the first and second floors, skipping the elevators.




“I almost didn't recognize him there,” Harry said, amazed, thinking back on Percy's appearance and words. “What on earth did the Minister do to him?”




Croaker laughed heartily, his eyes twinkling in that Dumbledore-like way Harry wished he could imitate.“Mr. Weasley has been reprimanded several times for acting in an overly stuffy manner. I believe our present Minister prefers directness and a certain independence, unlike the last one. Mr. Weasley, being at the side of the Minister for most of the day merely has more – exposure – than most to this way of thinking.”




“Ron's never going to believe Ihad a civil conversation with Percy.” Harry said wonderingly, smirking. “Shouldn't you get that cowl on? Unless you want to advertise your identity to everyone right off the bat?




“Better not, better not.” Croaker agreed, slipping the robe's hood over his face, shadowing his features. That effect, Harry figured, was doubtlessly magical in nature.







“Cingi Aversabilis Aequabilitas!” Moody cried, dodging sideways to avoid amaroon-coloured beam of light from hitting him. It sizzled past with an eerie crackling noise. The next beam hit straight on but bounced harmlessly towards the ceiling.




“A shield against Auror spells, Mad-Eye?” a second voice asked with a tone of humour, “Figure you'd be the one to expect your own allies backstabbing you.”




“It's useful, innit?” Moody barked, cursing for the umpteenth time that he only had one well-working leg. “Diffindo.”




The blond auror ducked out of the way of the cutting curse which skimmed just over his hair. “Look out where you're aiming that, you could take a head off!”




“If you can't dodge such apitiful curse you're not worth anything to the Aurors anyway,” Moody spat harshly, as he circled his foe. “You haven't even got a hit on me yet, and I can see several spots I already got you bleeding. Give up.”




The blond Auror sighed, raising his wand again – Moody tensed in response. “You've been duelling for hours, Mad-Eye – we know you're good at this stuff. You hardly need to prove that to us – you trained most of us, for crying out loud!”




“Live up to your name and be proud on yer feet, not a coward on your behind, Proudfoot,” Moody barked roughly, sending several silent stinging hexes towards the auror, who stepped back. “You and Williamson are piss-poor examples of Aurors and I don't want to know what the next generation will be like. I've only met one Auror of the new batch that is even worth the time.”




“Little Nymphadora,” Apony-tailed Auror said, sitting off to the site of the duelling hall, lurking from a flask of whiskey. “I don't know what you see in her, Mad-Eye. She's always tripping over things and the only thing she does with that metamorphing of hers is fancy hair colours.”




“She's got something none of you scum have, Williamson. She's got courage. Spades of it.” Mad-Eye circled again, then quickly levelled his wand with awhispered “Deprimo.”




Auror Proudfoot hadn't even noticed it coming – within an instant he was crumpled down on the ground, his wand rolling away, as he struggled to breathe and push himself upright. There was a struggle for a few more moments but the Auror was incapable of doing more than twitching and mumbling.




“I win.” Moody said shortly, pocketing his wand after breaking off the spell. “Pressure spell – a kid's spell, learned it ages ago. Of course it's abit more powerful than that of most students...”




Proudfoot grumbled, nursing his wand hand that had been rather rudely snapped forward by the sudden extreme weight of it and what it was holding. The Pressure spell was designed to increase the apparent weight of its target; although the weight was imaginary, it was quite convincing enough for the brain to respond with a panicked lock-down of control over one's muscles.




“Look presentable, folks - we've got company,” Moody said and he grinned – his artificial eye aimed straight at the back of his own head.


Alastor!” Harry said with a grin as he descended the stairs. He'd been standing at the entrance to the duelling hall for minutes, watching the duel progress; it was a large grey room with entrances several dozen feet above on each side, with rickety wooden stairs that appeared to have been repaired with spellotape and good wishes. The second level of the Ministry was the largest in sheer size, Croaker had claimed; Harry could now imagine what the man meant. This was but one of half a dozen duelling halls, all of which hailed from the times when disputes among magical families were settled with duels to the death. Each was at least two or three hundred feet long and half as wide, though most of it wasn't in use.

“Figured I'd see you around here one of these days, Potter.” Moody said, turning around to face him. “The people around here don't have too many secrets for little old me. Might not be employed any more but they don't have too many problems with my visits.”

“It's all a bit more than I expected,” Harry admitted, smiling. Croaker, still safely polyjuiced, looked on from a distance, acting as if merely an escort. Moody, of course, noticed him right away, and probably looked straight through the Unspeakable robe. Harry tried not to think too deeply about it. “I've been in the Ministry before but I never figured it was all so huge.”

“Quite the tour guide you have there, Harry,” Moody said, with afrown. “Didn't think the big cheese would actually go and do it himself. Shows you what I know.”

“It's not actually him,” Harry whispered conspiratorially. “It's actually an Unspeakable that's using Polyjuice. Reminds me of fourth year, really. I'm pretty sure he doesn't have the real one locked in a trunk though.”

Moody grimaced, looking at Croaker with a curious penetrating look - then he smirked knowingly. “You'd better not keep the guy waiting, Harry. I'll be here all week – I'm sure you'll want to talk to someone directly – and I figure we'll get plenty of chances to chat afterwards. Maybe do a little training. You've been keeping up on that, haven't you?”

“I thought you'd stopped training people,” Williamson commented, getting to his feet. “You gave us quite a speech when we tried to get you to train us in advanced duelling. You're going out of your way to train a pipsqueak instead?”

“Neither of you ever dared to get up close and personal with Lord Voldemort,” Moody stated coldly, and Harry noticed both Williamson and Proudfoot flinched at the name. “You call yourself Aurors and you cower at his bleeding name? Potter here has duelled the guy, caught in acouple of his schemes – and he still doesn't flee from his name like a sissy.”




“Hotshot, eh?” Proudfoot said with more certainty than his cowering stance would suggest. He gazed at Harry who fidgeted at the attention. “Up for a little spar, Potter?”




Moody snorted in amusement, turning to Harry, who took a quick look at Croaker – the Unspeakable merely shrugged.“If you wish. I'm hardly an expert at duelling, I mostly do surviving,” Harry admitted sheepishly.




“Good place to start from,” Moody said with a smile. “If I weren't careful about my own life I wouldn't be here to rag on your performance. I figure we'll limit the spells to Hogwarts fare, given your limited education.”




“No problem,” Proudfoot conceded. His clothes were marked with blood spatter all over though the wounds were already healed, but his stance was steady and sure.“Plenty of things to choose from, if nothing too exciting.”




Harry and Proudfoot paced apart carefully, taking up positions in two brightly marked circles etched into the floor. Harry slipped his wand out of his pocket and grabbing it tightly, trying to remember all the spells he'd learned over the years especially in his dreadful series of Defence classes. Moody walked between them and raised his hand, and announced : “First one to knock the other unconscious or harmless wins. Keep it civil.” He lowered his hand and stepped back – a bright red stunning spell zoomed right past him on a direct route to Harry.




“/Protego!”/ Harry said quickly, swiping his wand sideways – the spell sizzled out with a sputter of pink and green sparks. “Stupefy!”




His own stunning spell missed badly, as Proudfoot was moving, quick on his feet and already angling to approach. With a start, Harry realized it wasn't a static duel like in the duelling club, and he thought back on his few real fights – the only real one he could remember actually using defensive spells was back in the Department of Mysteries.




“You'll have to do better than that,” Proudfoot taunted, as he shot several more stunning spells, all easily blocked or evaded, though Harry had a hard time countering with his own offensive charms. “I won't go easy on you forever!”




“/Magicus Telum!”/Harry snapped, estimating where Proudfoot would be in a moment. The bright blue concussive blast smacked into Proudfoot's arm and the man winced, though he wasn't blasted off his feet as the spell was meant to do. Harry, emboldened, cast it again, only for it to be reflected easily, without even a spoken incantation.




“Come on, Potter.” his foe taunted again – Harry had already forgotten about the other people around him, and was focusing exclusively on the other wizard's wand movements, which were erratic. He was quite aware that vocalized spells were not the only option. /“Confumentis!”/Proudfoot intoned, but Harry sidestepped it.




“Jelly-Brain Jinxes? Really?” Harry said in return, getting into the spirit of things. “Don't you have anything better to throw at me?”




“Why, of course.” Proudfoot answered, sending an barrage of stinging hexes into Harry's quickly cast shield charm. Moody who had been watching from a small distance away backed off towards the stairs, where Williamson was cheering on his colleague with sparks from his wand. “I've got plenty./Fidus Attingo!”/




Harry jumped aside to dodge the brightly glowing white spell that zoomed towards him with an eerie wail – it changed course in mid-flight and Harry was forced to duck under it. When the spell turned yet again to find Harry, he finally conjured a shield charm and the spell exploded against it with a sizzle and a puff of smoke. “That was a nice one, can't remember learning it. Let's see what you think of Expulso!”




Proudfoot jumped back as the air in front of him exploded violently, spreading dust and dirt across the floor; it was considerably stronger than he's ever tried in Defence against the Dark Arts, since he was usually paired up with Ron who wasn't too certain about his Shield Charms. “Better,” the Auror admitted.




“/Deprimo!”/ Harry barked, thinking back on the way he'd seen Moody end his fight when he'd entered the duelling hall. He poured his energy into it, forcing his wand down with a slash, thinking back on how he'd forced power into his spell back in the graveyard with Voldemort. 'Now's not the time to think about this,' Harry thought furiously. Proudfoot was ready for it, though, and didn't lose his wand as he collapsed down to the floor – with a tiny flourish of it he was back on his feet, seemingly unaffected, though he looked at Harry with a modicum of respect.




“Can't catch me with the same trick twice.” Proudfoot joked, smirking, as he aimed his wand back at Harry. “Taste of your own medicine, then? Deprimo.”




Suddenly everything felt enormously heavy – Harry's wand fell out of his hand as if he'd been trying to hold up a ton of bricks with one finger – his body crumpled down to the floor, incapable of sustaining its own weight. With a groan, Harry tried to grab at his wand, but his hand wouldn't move more than twitches. Proudfoot cried victory, smiling, though Moody merely looked at Harry with a knowing smirk.




“/Accio Wand!”/ Harry thought furiously, thinking back to those times he'd summoned things in Dumbledore's office. This was precisely when he needed that. Concentration.




“/Accio Wand.”/ Harry whispered, almost out of breath - the wand slipped across the floor and into his waiting wand hand, much to his foe's astonishment. Proudfoot was not in time to react and a muttered /Expelliarmus/spell caught him square in the ribs sending his wand flying across the room and finally breaking the pressure of the curse. Harry inhaled deeply, hauling himself to his feet, firing off a stunning spell that caught Proudfoot squarely in the stomach. “That was fun.”




Proudfoot worked himself up to his feet again after a few seconds, blinking furiously – the Disarming charm had been rather strong, and had knocked him around quite a bit.“Blimey, Potter, that's quite an ace up your sleeve there. Not too many here who could pull of a wandless Accio in a jiffy.”




“He's got his work cut out for him, but he's got potential.” Williamson commented wryly. “He's probably better than I was when I joined the Ministry, and I'd graduated. That wandless thing is more something I'd expect from you, Alastor – did you drill that into the poor sod? I'd heard Hogwarts had rather poor Defence teachers of late.”




“That's true,” Harry said, thinking back on the terrible record with the various teachers.“Mostly our teachers have been incompetent or plain evil. The students have been forced to arrange for a bit of self-study. We had an entire unofficial club last year.”




“Wasn't that in the papers?” Williamson said, pondering. “Something about Dumbledore buildin' an army in the school? It was all retracted later, Ibelieve... Bit suspicious.”




“We were Dumbledore's Army, yes. It was sort of a play on what the Minister most feared at the time,” Harry admitted, smiling. “Umbridge was the Defence teacher and she was awful – so we taught ourselves some duelling and defence spells.”




“The Headmaster didn't actually teach you lot, did he?” Proudfoot asked as he sank down on the bench next to Williamson. “Can't believe Dolores Umbridge would be set in front of a classroom – she's hardly an expert in defensive magic.”




“Actually, the club was sort of taught by me,” Harry admitted with a blush. “I had the most practical experience and I knew a few pretty good spells that almost nobody could do – Patronus and such – so Hermione convinced me to do it. I suspect she and Ron will take over this year.”




“He does sound like you, Mad-Eye,” Williamson said with a laugh. “We heard the legends all right about your time in school. Illegal duelling clubs and tournaments, eh?”




Moody coloured slightly but didn't comment. Williamson shrugged and grimaced. “Umbridge is quite apiece of work, ain't she? Can't believe she still has a job after they found that torture implement on her.”




“Let me guess, quill that writes in your own blood?” Harry asked wryly, nursing his hand. “I hope I never run into her again – I don't know what I'd do.”




Williamson sighed, shifting his weight.“I assume you're another one of those that it was used on?Monstrous things, those blood quills – the wounds take forever to go away, I understand. Hope she didn't get you too badly.”




Harry wordlessly turned his scarred hand to Williamson, who gasped. “It's one of the reasons I'm still wary of the Ministry. If the likes of Umbridge can stay employed, something is wrong.”




Finally he turned to Croaker, who had been watching from the doorway since the beginning. “I could walk with you for a bit? Need to go visit a few floors down.”




“You're just going to leave us here,” Proudfoot complained, though he also stood up. “I suppose that means I should go and do something productive today. Ishould head to the Obliviator headquarters, are you heading that way?”




“You are free to come along for afloor or two,” Croaker said in a soft voice, nodding. “As for the Umbridge situation – I'm sure that the Minister will make sure she has a full trial when the opportunity arises, mister Potter.”







“Still think it's strange and abysmally worrisome,” mumbled Moody as he followed the faux-Scrimgeour away from the Department of Law Enforcement, crossing back towards the stairs. Unfortunately for Harry most of the Aurors were presently not on Ministry duty and even the Department Head was off somewhere, so there wasn't much to see. Moody had been complaining about the state of the Aurors for some time now, scoffing at the few hitwizards that passed by.




“I figure they're all simply hunting Death Eaters,” Harry commented with a shrug. “At least, that's what I hope they're doing. Besides the few that have been following us around since we left the first floor,” Harry recalled. “We could ask them what they know, I suppose.”




“Shadowing doesn't tend to involve talking to the person you're shadowing,” Croaker said with an amused smile. “There's reasons why the Aurors aren't all that exciting today. I'm sure that you'll share some mission or other with them soon enough and you'll find out what they can do. At the moment, you don't have the clearance to know what they're up to.”




The trio finally reached the next set of stairs that'd take them downwards towards the third level of the Ministry. Croaker had only really arranged for one more meeting : a representative of the Obliviator squads. Harry had the sinking feeling he'd probably already met the man but didn't remember.




“You'll like Arnold, Harry,” Moody said with a crooked grin, his magical eye whirring in its socket. “He's a hard worker and he's actually considering going for a more dangerous position in the Ministry; I suspect it's mostly because he's forgotten how to quit and he probably suspects somebody obliviated him about that.”




“Your friends are paranoid too,” Harry commented lightly. “I am not even slightly surprised.”




“Arnold Peasegood's a good man, though he has his flaws,” Croaker said. “For one, he's rather looselipped – I suppose that's counteracted by his ability to just make people forget it when he misspeaks.”




“I think the only person he doesn't dare try to memory charm is me,” Moody said gruffly.“I'm one of the few that can keep an eye on his wand even when he's hiding it in those obliviator cloaks, and he knows it.”




Croaker didn't comment, though Harry noticed a thin smile. When Harry finally descended the last steps towards the third floor – which, unlike the other floors, was lit with torches very reminiscent of Hogwarts - a clear voice rang out from the direction of the elevators : “Level 3: Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters, and the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee.” Moody's eye spun quickly in its socket, and stopped briefly – a crooked smile appeared on the ex-Auror's face.




“Alastor!” A tall gray-clad wizard said, as he loped over from one of the many hallways that departed from the intersection. He had a rather prominent beak-like nose and a puffy grey-brown hairdo that looked entirely suitable for the eighteenth century. Around his neck was a peculiar silvery triangular necklace that glittered in the torchlight.




“'Lo, Arnie.” Moody answered lightly. “I'm delivering these two to your care. Do make sure they remember they've been here. I've got an appointment with the Mad Hatter.”




“You shouldn't call him that. Besides, don't be silly, Alastor.” Arnold Peasegood said with asmall smile. “I'll speak to you over drinks, I'm sure. I can tell you if I had to obliviate anything there.”




Moody twitched and nudged Croaker, his eye twirling. Whatever it meant, Croaker tensed up. “No good reason for me to stick around – I'll see if I can get anything done today. I'll see you this week, I'm sure. Do keep an eye out for danger, all right? Constant vigilance!” Moody said with asmile.




Harry wanted to respond but Moody had already stumbled off. He was probably looking back with his magical eyeball, though. Peasegood was staring after the wizard curiously.




“So...” Harry said finally, after a lenghty silence. “Nice to meet you. I'm Harry Potter.”




“Of course, of course!” Peasegood said, flustered. “So very good to meet you. I'm Arnold Peasegood and I work as an Obliviator, here at the Ministry. Iwork with the Unspeakables quite a bit – I'm aware of your employment, of course – and I heartily welcome you! I'm one of the main contacts between the Departments, you see.”




“Nice to meet you – for the first time, I hope.” Harry said with a smile.




“Yes, yes...” Peasegood answered, with a little laugh. “I doubt we've met yet – of course, there's no way to be absolutely sure.”




Harry shrugged uncomfortably as he looked back at Croaker. “I'm assuming that we'll actually get some agreement about this memory modification stuff? It's bad enough to know there's people that can read minds.”




“There are certain perks to being an Unspeakable,” Croaker answered. “Occlumency training is mandatory - I'm afraid that obliviation of sensitive information is still common, though most secrets in the Department are locked away with a key phrase, allowing agents to recall the events if it's ever needed.”




“Why don't you do that for everyone?” Harry wondered aloud, raising an eyebrow.




“I'm afraid that the answer is rather related to convenience – this form of obliviation requires consent.” Peasegood answered. “There's a lot of discussion about the ethical use of obliviation among law wizards, of course. Luckily, abuse is relatively rare due to strict control.”




“I'm sure,” Harry answered, shaking his head. “I bet it's a riveting topic. I just hope I'll get to remember what I'm doing here.”




Peasegood looked behind him suddenly, tracking a small paper aeroplane that came soaring in from anondescript hallway among many. “That's for me, I expect,” the obliviator announced, catching it with a practised movement. “I'm sure we'll see each other again, mister Potter – possibly later today at dinner.”




“Of course, mister Peasegood,” Harry said quickly as the wizard proceeded to run off in the direction Moody had left earlier with barely a goodbye. He hadn't even opened the letter yet.




“Busy as usual,” Croaker said, nudging Harry on. “I'll have a discussion with Arnie at alater time – he's a bit forgetful at times and he probably didn't fully recognize he should provide a tour. I'm sure you'll get the opportunity, though. We should move on. The ins and outs of keeping secrets is not really a topic we should discuss in public hallways.”




Harry shrugged as Croaker once more set off at a quick pace, striding out down a next set of stairs next to the elevator. “We're heading towards the bottom floors at a bit of a pace, since most of the next floors are currently rather poorly staffed. It's early, as you may realize. We're being followed by some new people, just so you know.”




Harry didn't answer and followed Croaker around at that constant swift pace, glancing around himself nervously – two stairs down, Harry first noticed that a few wizards or witches were shadowing them. Croaker had apparently already noticed. “The Press.”




Taking Harry aside in a side-hallway at the Department of Magical Games and Sports, Croaker suddenly took Harry by the shoulder. “Showtime,” he whispered. Before Harry could really react, the faux-Scrimgeour pulled off his cowl, and started whispering, though what he was reciting seemed mere nonsense. After a moment, Harry realized he was reciting something in Latin.




There was a subtle click towards his right, and Harry forced himself not to react – he nodded at Scrimgeour at what seemed appropriate times, and a slight smile appeared on the borrowed face. More clicks resounded to his right, and Harry was almost certain that he heard a slight buzzing – Rita Skeeter in her animagus form, no doubt.

Harry, meanwhile, was thinking back to the books he'd found back at Privet Drive. He could've sworn there was Latin in at least a few of them, and he tried to recall aspecific phrase that had stood out to him. The concentrated look on his face probably made his act more convincing too. Finally, he remembered.




“Tu ne cede malis, sed contra audentior ito.” /Y/ou should not give in to evils, but proceed ever more boldly against them. Harry said as Croaker trailed off, smirking slightly as Croaker raised an eyebrow.




“Quite right, mister Potter. Not enough people know the classics these days. I do believe it is time we get you to the Department of Mysteries. Come along, now.” Croaker put up his cowl again, casting asuspicious look around as someone scuffled off.




“That went well,” Croaker admitted as the two once again marched off down the next set of stairs. “There were at least two reporters, but as far as I can tell there's none now. How did you know about Skeeter, by the way? I noticed you tensing at her buzzing around.”




“Found out at Hogwarts back in Third Year,” Harry admitted with a shrug.“It's been useful in getting her off my back.”




“I believe we've done all that we need to do – I should take you to your new workplace.” Croaker said, smiling. “The Unspeakables will want to talk to you, I'm sure – they're rather excited about all this.”




Harry nodded, before freezing. They? Why on earth would an unspeakable talk about his own group in the third person – unless...




With a twirl Harry had his wand out and aimed straight at Croaker's face, who immediately back away, drawing his wand. “What in the blazes?”




“Who are you?” Harry said with as much authority as he could muster.“What have you done with Croaker?”




A few tense moments later, the wizard at his wand finally relaxed and chuckled.“Oh, very good, mister Potter. I wouldn't have thought you'd figure it out at all, to be honest.”




“You'd better have a good explanation,” Harry said, his wand steady.“I should've known better with Polyjuice Potion involved.”




The man in Scrimgeour's guise smiled, putting his wand in his pocket and holding up empty hands. “Now, now – there's no need to be so volatile. I merely wished to see your natural reactions, thus the deception.”




“Who are you?” Harry asked again, eyes narrowing.




“Haven't you guessed yet? I'm Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister for Magic. The Polyjuice was a mere ruse.” The wizard smiled as he retrieved a small bottle from his robes. “This is merely firewhiskey – apick-me-up for a dreary day. I'm afraid that Unspeakable Croaker is presently at the Department of Mysteries – and has been ever since we left the office.”




Harry lowered his wand warily. “So the Minister for Magic of the entire country has actually been playing tour guide. All the way from Hogwarts. What's the point?”




“I arranged the deception with Aeron's – Unspeakable Croaker's – help. I assure you that there was no foul play involved at all. Imerely requested the opportunity to observe you as you naturally are, without the annoyance of people trying to pander to my every wish. Ido believe that it worked – you believed I was merely alower-level employee and had no problem criticizing the administration.”




Harry gulped, thinking back on several conversations with Moody and what he thought was Croaker as they were descending from the upper floors – he'd not been all that positive about the Ministry.




“Not to worry, mister Potter. If you recall, I do prefer a no-nonsense approach rather than people with velvet tongues, like the last Minister. I must admit to agreeing with you on Cornelius' character flaws.”




“So you've been tricking me,” Harry finally said, glaring. “There was really no need – I'm hardly the type to be all that respectful just because someone has a lot of power or money.”




“Really?” Scrimgeour said, amused. “Do tell.”




“I smashed up Professor Dumbledore's office. Twice now, actually. Second time Ihad permission, though.” Harry said, bemused. “You probably know full well that Fudge and I didn't get on, let alone the Malfoys.”




Scrimgeour smiled good-naturedly but didn't respond. Finally, he spoke again. “I do hope you have some respect for my position, even if I will probably not reprimand you for speaking your mind. Now, there was an actual reason for my tour – I do really have to deliver you to the Department of Mysteries.”




“Is the Department of Mysteries going to be full of these kinds of pointless mind games?” Harry asked, before remembering the obliviators.“Never mind, I bet it is.”




Scrimgeour didn't disagree as he moved on in that half-sprint, Harry once again bringing up the rear.







“Sir, sir!”




The tall witch in Unspeakable robes charged into the Chamber of Thought, evading several floating items with nimble movements.




Unspeakable Mirrikh was busy disentangling a particularly reluctant string of thoughts and wasn't aware of the excitable arrival until he was almost bowled over.




“Unspeakable Demetrion, what is the meaning of this?” Mirrikh exclaimed, quickly banishing the cerebellum back into its tank. “You know full well that this room is dangerous if one is not careful. You could've been attacked! What could possibly be so urgent?”




Demetrion managed to get her bearings and proceeded to drag Mirrkh along by his robe – he had little choice but to follow. “Sir, you told me I should get you when there was any anomaly with the Veil. If you're quick, you can see it for yourself.”




Annoyance forgotten, Mirrikh lifted up his robe and quickly made his way past several colleagues – one of them looked rather peeved about the disturbance – and straight into the Chamber with many names. It contained the oldest artefact in this Ministry building – an ancient stone archway, crumbling with age, with a thin and ethereal veil fluttering softly below it, though there was no breeze. Except it wasn't fluttering now – it was flapping violently, jerking back and forth.




“What -” Mirrikh asked, but Demetrion cut him off.




“There's only been a few reports of this behaviour – most of it not recent. We think it might have something to do with certain powerful wizards approaching it, but we've not really been able to narrow it down.”




“Powerful wizards?” Mirrikh wondered, narrowing his eyes. “This is the same thing reported back when Mugwump Dumbledore visited, isn't it?”




Mirrikh nodded in confirmation. “Reportedly Albus Dumbledore makes the veil respond like this, though only in recent years – he's been here in his youth and there were no reports then. There were a wizard or two from an old family back in the 1800's, but I believe that line is now extinct – they made it flap like this as well. There is some rumour that Gellert Grindelwald made it react, though as far as the registry goes, he never entered the Department at all.”




“I'm assuming Dumbledore's not due for a meeting?” Mirrikh wondered, fingering his beard. “It seems unlikely, for the veil to react so very strongly to specific wizards. There's no necromancers around, right?”




Demetrion scoffed.“There's two or three, but they've never gotten much more than a twitch out of the veil. Perhaps if they got to use some of those bells of theirs in here, but as you well know it's highly illegal to use experimental magic without authorization.”




“The Minister's not dumb enough to sign off on necromancers doing much of anything experimental, I'm sure.” Mirrikh mused, smirking.“Last time they got around to some experimenting, a whole cemetery went and walked into town. The obliviators were in fits for a month.”




“Anything peculiar on the roster today?” Demetrion wondered, fiddling with her robe – unlike her colleague, it was an elegant green dress robe, entirely against the Unspeakable dress code. She was one of the few that could get away with it, being a mere guest of the ministry rather than an employee.




“Yes,” Mirrikh admitted.“We've got Harry Potter coming in later for a tour. He's supposed to join the Department. I have my suspicions that he'll mysteriously vanish to parts unknown within a few months. You know the drill. Besides, he was here last year and the veil didn't react in any significant way.”




“He's what, sixteen?” Demetrion asked with a frown. “Didn't know you were hiring schoolchildren these days. What's he going to do, transfigure bunnies into hats?”




Mirrikh looked around briefly, but most of the wizards in the room were writing down observations of the trembling archway. “I understand the boy's apparently a Seer. Got his first vision just a few weeks ago, too.”




“A Seer?” Demetrion replied, perplexed. “How about that, a male Seer. How long's it been since there was one of those?”




“Tactile rather than visual, from what I understand,” continued Mirrikh, “The Custodians want to meet him. Besides that there's recommendations from a couple of Departments – Temporal, even.”




“Temporal? Yeah, that guy will be gone within the month.” Demetrion said with a small smile. “I hardly think they'll have him stick around here with us flunkies if he's got that kind of potential.”




The veil continued fluttering madly, but there appeared to be no further change to it. Mirrikh quickly said his goodbyes to his colleague and moved towards the exit, in the direction of the entrance hall.




The moment he stepped into the large round room with many doors, he was jolted awake rudely – Rufus Scrimgeour walked in confidently from the visitor's entrance – trailing behind the imposing man was a shortish dark-haired youth with brilliant green eyes.




“Mister Potter, I'd like you to meet Operative Mirrikh, supervisor of the London branch of the Department of Mysteries – and your new boss. Mirrikh, I'm here to deliver your newest acquisition. I do hope you take good care of him.”




Harry wanted to greet the man in front of him, tried to get himself to lift his hand – but he couldn't. The moment he walked into the hall and saw the man approaching a terrible feeling had gripped him – he felt like he was frozen to the floor. Though he didn't know quite how he knew, he realized he'd have to tell the man something. Images and understanding flickered in his head. Was this divination? Seeing?




“Wife and child met the venomous snake.” Harry ground out, finally, in a strangely gravelly tone completely different from his usual. He'd not quite known why those words seemed most appropriate. Harry coolly noted that we was thinking in an oddly disjointed manner, but ignored it.




Scrimgeour and Mirrikh both gave him incredulous stares after the apparent non-sequitur. Harry suddenly realized what it must be like for Trelawney, on the few occasions she actually said something prescient.




“Are you feeling all right, mister Potter?” Scrimgeour asked nervously. Harry hadn't looked away from Mirrikh for a second – now he glared at Scrimgeour.




Harry finally managed to speak again, still feeling sick and cold and stuck to the floor – his thought sluggish and confusing.“Vision. Your family's in danger. Poison.”




Mirrikh paled and vanished on the spot with a sharp crack. Harry finally felt the coldness drop away and shuddered, emotion suddenly rushing back in and sending his teeth chattering. He turned to Scrimgeour. The Minister, it seemed, was rather confused.




“Not sure if Croaker told you already, but there's some people here that think I'm a Seer.” Harry admitted nervously, “I'm starting to think they might be right.”




Scrimgeour didn't answer.