Biscuits and Blackmail

Biscuits and Blackmail

Ministerial War Powers Decree Number Forty-Eight

Whereas individuals infected with lycanthropy, otherwise known as werewolves, are known to be falsely and treasonably allied with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, all persons employed by the Ministry are hereby barred from fraternisation with these and all other Dark creatures. In particular:

1. No Ministry employee may harbor a werewolf in his or her home.

2. No Ministry employee may enter the home or hovel of a werewolf, unless there on official business.

3. Any Ministry employee connected to a werewolf by ties of blood or marriage is instructed to sever all such ties and take steps to legally disown said werewolf. No new marriages or liaisons with werewolves are to be tolerated.

Ministry employees in violation of this decree are subject to immediate dismissal.

By order of Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary of the Wartime Security Division

2 August 1997

New orders from the Wartime Security Division had been coming out almost daily since Umbridge had been appointed department head. They never meant anything good, as far as most Ministry employees were concerned, but Decree Number Forty-Eight at least had the minor advantage of affecting very few people. The vast majority of Ministry workers had never fraternized with a werewolf and could not imagine why they would want to.

Nymphadora Tonks was not part of that large and complacent majority. As far as she was concerned, this was the most ominous news she’d heard yet, and Umbridge’s timing couldn’t have been worse. Her relationship with Remus Lupin was still very new and shaky; they’d only just had time to catch their breaths and realize that yes, they were together, and yes, his cover with Greyback’s pack was hopelessly blown and he was free to return to wizarding society. If they’d had a few more months together – a few more weeks, even – she would have felt more confident. As things stood, she had a feeling Remus was about to go all Stupidly Noble and Self-Sacrificing. Again.

Better to have it over with at once, she thought as she signed her resignation papers. If it’s a done deal, he can’t tell me to leave him and keep the job. All the same, her hands were shaking as she Apparated home and told him what she had done.

He looked at her as though she had just struck him in the face. After a moment, he got up from his chair and took a step toward the door. “You can’t. Truly. I’ve been selfish. I did hope that perhaps – if I kept a low profile – you wouldn’t have to give up your work and your friends and – and having a normal life. I can’t ask that of you. It isn’t fair.”

It isn’t fair for you to make all the decisions for me, you twit! she thought, but she remembered to take a deep breath before saying anything out loud. “Remus. Can’t you see that this is not about you?”

“Well, of course it isn’t. It’s a symptom of a larger social –”

“It’s about me. Dolores Umbridge has it in for me, and everybody else in the Ministry who went behind her back two years ago. You’re just an excuse. If you break up with me, she’ll find some other reason to get rid of me.” She was not entirely sure whether this was true, but it seemed likely enough, and she had no intention of sticking around the Ministry long enough to find out.

“Do you really think so?” He had turned away from the doorway, and although he spoke in the even, controlled voice of a man who was trying to suspend judgment, she thought she saw a flicker of hope in his face.

“I know so. And I don’t want to hear another word from you about ending things – unless you’re well and truly sick of the sight of me, in which case you’re quite free to go.”

“Oh, I don’t think you need to worry about that,” he said, bending forward to kiss her on the back of the neck. A shiver of pleasure ran down her backbone at the touch of his lips and she smiled to herself. He was learning confidence, rather late in life, and it was lovely.

 

                                                            *          *          *

There remained the problem of finding a new job. Kingsley, she knew, would gladly testify to her professional competence; but prospective employers would wonder why she hadn’t given them Scrimgeour’s name, unless she could offer them another reference whose name carried almost as much weight. The logical place to find such a person was at Hogwarts.

“Professor McGonagall. I’ve just resigned from my job with the Auror Division, and I was wondering if I might be able to use you as a reference –”

“Ah yes. War Powers Decree Number Forty-Eight, was it?”

“Yes.” Did McGonagall know everything?

“And, if I may ask, how does your partner feel about the fact that you have evidently placed him above your career?”

“That isn’t how I put it to him. I said I thought Umbridge wanted me out of the Ministry one way or the other, and it would make very little difference whether I resigned over this or something else.”

The Headmistress nodded crisply. “Wise. In more ways than one. I shall be happy to serve as a reference for any position for which you care to apply – save perhaps prima ballerina – but I was hoping, unless you already have your heart set on something else, that you might consider returning to Hogwarts as a teacher. I can offer you your choice of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, or Potions, but I strongly suggest Potions. I should be able to cover the Transfiguration lessons for the time being, as long as enrollment remains low – and the Defense position tends not to be conducive to long-term employment – and, as I recall, you had an Outstanding N.E.W.T. in Potions. Do you accept?”

“I – I’m very grateful, but – What happened to Professor Slughorn?”

“Professor Slughorn vanished a week ago Tuesday. Coincidentally, an overstuffed armchair seems to have materialized in the staff room on the same day. Nobody recalls ordering it, but it is a very comfortable chair, and we would rather not have to do without it.” McGonagall thought for a moment and added as an afterthought, “And, of course, it would be wrong to force Professor Slughorn to remain employed against his will.”

“Oh.” Tonks considered the offer. She had never thought about teaching before – but she liked children well enough, and she’d have Remus to advise her. The only snag was the fact that she was taking a job that he had loved, and lost through no fault of his own. “Would you consider hiring Remus for Transfiguration or Defense?” she asked.

McGonagall looked sincerely regretful. “I wish I could, but the law will not allow us to hire a werewolf. You have Dolores Umbridge to thank for that, as well. I might add – speaking as one who has some experience of the masculine ego – that this is another reason why you should consider taking the Potions position rather than one of the others.”

“Because he’s not even remotely qualified to teach Potions, and he wouldn’t want to anyway?”

“Precisely.”

Tonks grinned. “Potions it is, then.”

“Very well. I look forward to seeing you on the first of September. Here is a list of the textbooks and supplies Professor Slughorn ordered for this year’s classes – I suggest that you peruse them and let me know as soon as possible if you wish to make any changes. Also, I expect you’ll want to start working on your lesson plans straightaway, and you might want to begin learning the students’ names as well – I should have a roster of students with photographs somewhere about ... ah, here it is ... this won’t help with the first-years, of course, but fully half of them have declined admission, so you’ll get to know the others quickly enough... Oh, and Quidditch is cancelled because the school is on an emergency footing, so you won’t be expected to referee, but here’s a copy of the rota for night duty, hall duty, and meal duty, and a list of your responsibilities...”

 

                                                            *          *          *

Remus smiled when she admitted that her head was spinning. “It isn’t as bad as it sounds,” he said. “You fall into a rhythm soon enough, and I’ll help you through the first few weeks. And I think you’ll have a brilliant time. Teaching is fun.”

It was fun, she discovered in her first few weeks of employment. The little ones adored her from the start, and after a bit of sarcastic banter and one of her favorite parlor tricks involving an Engorgement Solution and a Ken doll, the older teenagers slowly accepted her into the ranks of Cool Teachers. Most of them had detested Snape and had mixed feelings about Slughorn, which made her task easier. And there was something immensely satisfying about watching young Volumnia Crabbe finally learn how to brew a Pepper-Up Potion without breaking out in welts or setting anything on fire.

There were only two problems. One was the paperwork. She felt like she was drowning in a sea of it. Every day brought new stacks of essays, and if she gave into temptation and let herself take an evening off from marking them, they piled up in great mountains that hid the kitchen table. And then there were progress reports to file, permission forms to fill out, marks and attendance records to send to McGonagall, and letters from indignant parents who wanted to know why their child had received an E-plus instead of an O. (It was always the E-pluses; the parents whose children were truly in danger of failing greeted the news with an indifference she found depressing, and seldom answered her letters.)

The other problem was Remus.

“He’s jealous,” Tonks admitted to her mother one day. “He doesn’t complain, but I almost wish he would, because I can tell it’s eating him up, watching me go up to the castle every day. And on top of that, I don’t want this job one tenth as badly as he does. I don’t mind teaching, but it’s the middle of a war and I ought to be out being an Auror, protecting people.” She accepted a cup of tea from Andromeda, but toyed with the handle without drinking it. “Why couldn’t Dolores Umbridge have just let us alone? Is that so much to ask?”

“It is time you remembered that you are a Black, my dear,” said Andromeda obliquely, stirring sugar into her tea.

“What are you saying, Mum? D’you mean it’s time to fight dirty?”

Andromeda sighed theatrically. “Sometimes I despair of breaking you of those Muggle vulgarisms. I prefer to call it ‘playing to one’s opponent’s weaknesses.’ We are all fallible, but I should not be surprised if Madam Umbridge has more weaknesses than most of us.”

“No doubt, but what am I supposed to do? Tail her until I find out what they are?”

“Actually, I think it would be better if Remus tailed her. He has no other employment at present, and men like to feel useful. Besides, I hope you haven’t forgotten that you nearly failed Stealth and Tracking.”

“How could I forget when you won’t let me live it down?” Tonks muttered.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing, Mum.”

 

                                                            *          *          *

Remus had been following Dolores Umbridge for three days. He was beginning to think that this was utterly insane, probably just a half-arsed attempt to make him feel useful, when he spotted her leaving the Ministry an hour earlier than usual. She walked, not to the Ministry’s designated Apparition point, but to an obscure alley half a mile farther along, and then Disapparated.

He cast a discreet Tracking Spell and Disapparated to the coordinates it indicated.

He stood at the edge of a cliff honeycombed with caves. A sharp wind was blowing, which was fortunate for him, as it muffled the sound of his arrival. He pressed close to the cliff, hoping that it would give him some cover, and watched as Umbridge approached the mouth of the nearest cave.

A dark figure glided out from the cave, and beneath its hood he saw a flash of the unearthly light of decay.

Umbridge leaned forward and spoke to it. So she still had a dementor or two in her pocket. That was interesting – especially when you considered that the dementors were known to be allied with Lord Voldemort.

Remus took out his camera and snapped half a dozen shots of the Senior Undersecretary conferring with the hooded figure. Then, deliberately, he kicked a small stone that lay underfoot and allowed it to graze the woman’s leg.

Umbridge turned. She had clearly taken in the situation at a glance, because her lips curled in an expression of deep displeasure and she screeched “Accio camera!” over the rising wind.

Remus, however, was quicker on the draw, and cast a Shield Charm before she finished speaking. “Protego!”

“Photographus alterius!”

“Nice try, Madam Umbridge, but this is a Muggle camera loaded with Muggle film. You’ll find that it has a certain resistance to magical tampering.” Remus tucked the camera away inside its case, which he had also Charmed against theft and magical interference. “And now,” he added with a small but dangerous smile, “why don’t we have a nice cup of tea and talk this over?”

 

                                                            *          *          *

Umbridge followed him to his cottage in Hogsmeade meekly, having apparently decided that faux friendliness was the way to go. She seemed, in fact, to be doing her best to outdo him in this arena, although he couldn’t help noticing that she regarded the tea he offered her with deep suspicion, and poured the better part of it onto one of the houseplants when she thought his back was turned.

“Perhaps we ought to discuss what you were doing with those dementors,” he said, and took a sip of his own tea. “They are generally considered Dark creatures, aren’t they? I had the impression that under Decree Number Forty-Eight, Ministry employees are barred from fraternizing with them.”

Umbridge gave him a smile that seemed to exude poisoned syrup. “If you are so very familiar with Decree Forty-Eight, I’m sure you’ve also heard of Decree Thirty-Seven, which deals with the penalties for threatening, spying on, or otherwise interfering with the activities of an official of the Wartime Security Division. On the off chance that you don’t know it, I might – just as a teensy bit of friendly advice – suggest that you look it up, Mr. ... I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.” She fluttered her eyelashes disingenuously.

“My name is Remus Lupin.”

He didn’t know whether she would recognize the name, but judging by the way she shrieked, jumped up from her chair, and hollered “GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU FILTHY HALF-BREED!” she certainly did.

Tonks poked her head into the kitchen, followed closely by Andromeda. “Is there a problem?”

Remus Accio’d two more teacups and motioned for all three women to sit down. “Not as far as I’m concerned, but I suppose Madam Umbridge might have a slight problem, now that she’s just been seen in the home of a werewolf by two reliable witnesses.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’s here on official Ministry business,” said Tonks brightly. She passed Umbridge a plate of biscuits. “Would you like me to send an owl to the Ministry to confirm why you’re here, just to make sure you don’t run into any problems later?”

Umbridge sat down again. Her eyes were darting around the kitchen, and she had the desperate look of a cornered beast. “N-no. That won’t be necessary.”

“Good.” Remus accepted a biscuit; he was beginning to enjoy himself. “Then I think we are ready to discuss terms.”

Umbridge looked utterly defeated. “Are you calling for my resignation?”

“No,” said Remus. “I am calling for your cooperation. Specifically, I’m asking you to use your position to do three things. First, nullify War Powers Decree Forty-Eight. Secondly, offer to re-hire all of the Ministry workers who lost their jobs or resigned because of Decree Forty-Eight and compensate them for the time they spent unemployed. Third, you are to work for the repeal of the werewolf laws you pushed through the Wizengamot four years ago.”

Umbridge turned an unbecoming shade of purple and muttered something that sounded like “Impossible ... declining influence ... position at the Ministry not what it used to be...”

Remus gave her a steely look. “I think you will find that you still have a great deal of influence at the Ministry. Unless, of course, that photograph happens to surface where your colleagues can see it.”

Spluttering, Umbridge agreed to his terms and took her leave.

 

                                                            *          *          *

Tonks had long held the opinion that what Remus really needed was lots of compliments, and his deft handling of Umbridge gave her the perfect opportunity to deliver. “You,” she said, leaning forward to kiss him right in front of her mother, “are a genius. Absolutely brilliant. Probably an evil genius, mind, but one can’t be too fussy about such things.”

Andromeda favored him with a curt nod of approval. “Of course, it might not have been necessary to ask that dreadful woman in for tea. You already had evidence that she was consorting with Dark creatures, didn’t you?”

 

“I’m afraid it was necessary,” said Remus, deadpan. “You see, dementors don’t actually show up on Muggle film.”

Andromeda gave him a long stare down the bridge of her nose, as though evaluating him closely. At last she pronounced, “The world lost a fine Slytherin on the day you were Sorted.”

Tonks choked on her tea, but Remus seemed entirely unperturbed by this remark. He nodded. “Yes, that’s exactly what the Hat said.”

As he polished off the last few biscuits, Tonks watched him with a twinge of dismay. She began to wonder if you could ever know a man as well as you thought you did.