The New Magical Minister

She hadn't meant to say it. It had kind of slipped from her, like a big slimy Flobberworm. She was having a bad day; tea had been spilled all over her lap this morning, the heavens decided to rain just as she ran up the steps to the Daily Prophet's headquarters, her ink spilled and soaked into a stack of fresh parchment, and her last quill broke in two as she wrote. All in all, Hermione Granger decided that someone had slipped her an Unlucky Potion.

However, her boss wasn't sympathetic. He had the nerve to tell her that she should rewrite one of her articles and that she was to have two new pieces written by tomorrow. And they were such insignificant pieces! Who cared about the opening of a Gladrags in Manchester? But no, Mr. Penning wouldn't change his mind. He gave Hermione a dirty look and said to her, "Don't worry. The way you've been handling your work, no one will want to read it anyway!"

Hermione jumped from her chair, blood pounding, fists clenched. Normally she wouldn't get mad...not like this. Sure, there was that time when she slapped Malfoy, and some people counted that once when she broke Ron's chess pieces in anger, but it didn't happen often. This time, though, Hermione practically spat fire when she yelled, "Nobody reads the Daily Prophet anyway! This newspaper is bullocks...none of the articles are read by intelligent people!"

Suddenly, realizing what she said, Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth and stared, wide-eyed, as Mr. Penning's face turned a rainbow of colors. He opened his mouth, but closed it, uttering only a gurgling noise. Finally, he gathered himself. "You've just insulted everyone in my family!" he said, his voice barely a breath.

"I merely meant it as a suggestion-"

"I'm sure you did," he said, "and since you've suggested such a wise improvement, I'll let you handle it. I'll give you a front page interview-"

"Mr. Penning, I only-"

"With one condition." Hermione became slightly worried as his brow creased into a sly look. "You fail miserably, you're out of the job."

Hermione didn't even consider it. Either lose her job now or have a chance to regain her pride with a masterpiece of an article. "You won't be disappointed, sir."

"The intelligent folks will be."

Hermione knew better than to respond to that. "Mr. Penning, who am I interviewing?"

"Cornelius Fudge."

Hermione almost fell over. She forced herself to smile, nod, then she scurried back to her office and slumped into her chair. She still sat ten minutes later, tapping her (broken) quill against the rough wood on her desk. She was torn between anxiety and anger. There were no possible words she could use to describe her hatred for the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. She was always asked what she hated about him, but she could never say for certain. Hermione definitely didn't agree with all of his policies, but then again, almost no one did.

Yet, there was no way she could back out of the interview. And there was also no way she could be biased, because that would almost certainly mean the end of her career. Although she disliked working at the Daily Prophet, she wouldn't allow herself to work under Fudge's nose in the Ministry. Hermione found herself in a bad corner with no way out. As Ron would say, damned all the way through.

Ron.

No, she thought, no need to complicate things anymore. Hermione stood up to peer out her grimy, cracked window. And oh, what a view it was of the back alley, filled with dumpsters and shadowy witches doing even more shadowy things. The rain still continued to fall, though much less than before. Hermione needed to inform the Minister that she would like a interview with him, so she knelt near the tiny fireplace and lit it with her wand. She whispered another charm and the flames changed from orange to a purple color.

"Cornelius Fudge!" she said loudly, placing her face into the fire. The fire felt like a feather on her chin, and she controlled herself so she wouldn't burst out laughing. What a sight that would be if she was having a good laugh while speaking to the Minister.

However, a pretty face appeared in the fireplace. Hermione was quite surprised to see a woman's face instead of a man's, but she realized that the woman must be Fudge's secretary. "Can I help you, Miss?"

"I'm Hermione Granger from the Daily Prophet. Is there a chance I could -"

"Oh certainty! He'll be more than willing to take an interview! In fact, he's available now...." the woman said then paused to look to her right. "Would you be able to make it in a few minutes?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously. How did the Minister, a high-profiled member of wizarding society, have time to take an interview with a reporter? And now that she thought about it, how had the woman known that she had wanted a interview? Perhaps Hermione was just wondering if Fudge was going to visit the Minister of Magic in France. She clucked under her tongue; Hermione knew that Fudge was willing to do anything for a page in the press and it only deepened her hatred for the Minister. "I'll be there in ten minutes or so."

"You'll need your press badge, ma'am."

"Of course. Thank you for your help."

"I'll be seeing you soon," the woman said, flashed Hermione a dizzying smile, then disappeared. Hermione put the fire out and sat back at her desk with her broken quill in hand and a fresh sheet of parchment. Oddly enough, questions to ask Fudge seemed to pour from her head like water. Her hand couldn't move fast enough across the parchment. When she finished, Hermione found it had only taken her a few minutes to write down nearly twenty-five questions.

Hermione grabbed her cloak off her chair and threw her press badge around her neck. She fled to the main lobby where ten majestic fireplaces lined the wall. Each mantle was empty except for a small, white jar. Witches and wizards of all sorts occupied most of the fireplaces, but they disappeared through the fireplace in an instant and a new wizard or witch took their spot.

Hermione stopped at the fireplace farthest down the hall. She opened the jar, took a pinch of the Floo Powder, threw it into the fireplace and watched as the green flames licked the bricks. She ducked her head and stepped into the fireplace, then called, "Britain's Ministry of Magic!" Immediately the cold lobby of the Daily Prophet spun from her view and was replaced by swirling, dazzling, and muddled images of different fireplaces. Hermione felt herself slow a bit and braced herself for the landing.

Her feet found sure ground. She stepped out from the fireplace and looked around the large room. It was more like a ballroom, Hermione thought, as she took in the huge towers that reached up to the ceiling. The ceiling itself seemed god-like with golden paintings and engravings covering every part of it. To her right was a long desk, similar to the one at Gringotts.

"Pardon me, are you done with this fireplace?" a man asked Hermione, his arms full of papers.

"Oh, yes, sorry! Here," she said, opening the jar of Floo Powder and gave some to the man. "Sorry to keep you waiting." And she hurried over to the long desk. She now could see that there were at least thirty fireplaces in the Ministry building, and they were much prettier than the ones at the Daily Prophet. At the desk, Hermione stuck out her press badge and let the gruff man have a long look at it. He turned his tiny eyes upon her and she smiled nervously. No, no, no, Hermione thought, don't be nervous!

"All right, Miss," the man said. "Go down that hall and you'll come to a set of Mouvings."

Hermione thanked him then set off down the hallway. All too late she realized she had no idea what a Mouving was. Instead of turning back around, Hermione continued down the hall and stopped at the end. There on the wall were the ugliest things Hermione had ever seen. There were ten, small heads protruding from the wall. They were hideous heads: brown and fat with black, round eyes and a mouth the size of Hermione's hand.

Carefully she approached one. She felt like a complete fool. Somewhere, in all her books at home, Hermione felt certain that she should have come upon a Mouving. And if she hadn't seen one for herself, Hermione would never believe that they existed. Still unsure of what to do, Hermione slowly reached her hand out towards one. The ugly head opened its mouth, as if waiting for something. Hermione looked at it uncertainly. Would it bite? She took her press badge and placed it in its mouth as a test. The thing - Mouving - closed its mouth around it and seemed to taste it, then glowed a greenish color. It released Hermione's badge and asked in a croaky voice, "Where do you go?"

"Where do I go?"

"Where do you go?"

"Minister Fudge's office."

"Very well," the Mouving said, and blew on her his hot, sickly breath. Hermione shut her eyes in anticipation. She felt a slight rush of air and suddenly felt as if she had rolled down a hill in a wagon. When her stomach stopped doing cartwheels, she pried an eye open and found herself in a different room. It had plain, maroon walls (oh, wouldn't Ron love this room, she thought with glee) and two small fireplaces in the corner. Hermione recognized the secretary as the woman she had spoken to just a few minutes before.

"Hullo, I-"

"He'll be right with you, Ms. Granger," the woman said, bouncing with delight. She was pretty and young with a very stylish hair cut. "Have a seat." Hermione obliged and sat in a huge, overstuffed chair in the corner. Hermione stared at the Mouvings that were on the wall across from her, bobbing their ugly heads once in a while. She was used to elevators and stairs, but this? She would have to read more about them when she got the chance. Hermione was fascinated.

The room was crowded, to say the least. Goblins, ghosts, witches, and wizards all sat or stood around, grumbling and complaining. And old hag stared at Hermione as she sat and a young man continuously to winked at her, though he was clearly attached to the brunette beside him. Hermione shifted uncomfortably, hoping this wouldn't take too long.

The door on the left swung open to reveal a portly man with graying hair. Hermione immediately stood up but did not move forward. He was not getting king treatment from Hermione and she was going to make sure of it. Fudge went over to his secretary's desk, looked over her shoulder at the schedule, then placed his eyes on Hermione. "Ah, Ms. Granger!" The room fell silent an all eyes swiveled to her. She stood up straighter.

"Minister Fudge, it's a pleasure," she said, grabbing his hand to shake it. He seemed mildly surprised.

"Please, step into my office."

Hermione followed him through the door, dimly aware of the complaining that had risen behind her. Fudge shut the door and ushered her onto a long, elegant couch. He snapped his fingers and a house-elf appeared carrying a tray of biscuits and tea. The elf had on only a towel, wore mittens, and seemed very nervous. Fudge sent him off with a look as Hermione tried to control her anger. To occupy her mind, she looked around. The room certainty made up for whatever Fudge lacked in character. There were bookshelves on every wall, stretching from the floor to the ceiling. Portraits of Ministers past lined the walls and a great chandelier floated in the center of the room like a crown. Hermione was reminded very much of Headmaster Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts.

"Well, Ms. Granger, I do remember you," Fudge said, beaming. "Head of your class at Hogwarts, right? Prefect, Head Girl, all the likes? Still friends with Harry Potter?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Of course."

"So tell me, how's he holding up?"

Hermione forced a smile. "Fine, just fine sir. If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you some questions. About you."

"Go right ahead. Tea?"

"No, thank you. Am I correct, Minister," Hermione said, glancing at her list of questions. She had taken out a piece of parchment and her broken quill from her bag, unscrewed the ink, and was ready to write. "You have been in office for eighteen years?"

"Oh, my, has it really been that long? Yes, I suppose it has. Eighteen fine years indeed."

"Name some things off the top of your head that you've accomplished while in office, please."

"Well, now, let's see. May take me a moment - eighteen years, you know! I've kept the wizarding world in order for a while now. Little bits of Dark magic here and there-"

"Here and there?" Hermione asked, disbelieving. "Here and there? With all do respect, Minister, I think you might have missed a few things."

"Now, now, don't get too excited. It's all under control."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but remembered that she had an article to write, and Mr. Penning would not be happy with, "Fudge is a git." So she calmly wrote down what he had said and continued. "Let's move on. How are relations between you and the Minister of Magic in United States? I understand you and her had a disagreement over how to handle the Muggle sailors who had spotted a broom race over the Atlantic."

"You read up on your material, my dear. Good," Fudge said, grabbing three biscuits and eating them in quick succession. Hermione didn't bother to correct him. She didn't read up on him; she had only ten minutes to gather her wits and make the interview, let alone read about international relations. Hermione had known about the tension with the United States because she often listened to the Wizarding Wireless Network on Ginny's radio.

"Yes, we did have a moment when we couldn't agree, but we've resolved it," Fudge said, patting his mouth with a handkerchief.

"How?"

"You see, Minister Harvey wanted to leave their memories intact. I voted for the Memory Charm. Who knows what the Muggles would do with the knowledge of magic!"

"And why did Minister Harvey object to the Memory Charm?"

"She's proactive in Muggle/Wizard relations. Likes to advocate that we and Muggles should live together. And although she knows the risks, she's a bit extreme sometimes. It was decided to have a council of Atlantic nations, and it was fifteen to one on using the Memory Charm."

"Is she upset?"

"Not at all. I think she's swinging our way."

"Can we move on to Sirius Black?"

Fudge choked on his tea. He smiled, wiped his mouth with the handkerchief again, and waved his hand at Hermione to continue. "About five years ago he escaped from Azkaban. Four years after that, he was found innocent through raids in the homes of certain, long-gone Death Eaters. Share your views, Mr. Fudge."

"Mr. Black is the Ministry's finest lawyer."

"He's one of the five who represent the Ministry in trial. He is also your spokesman. What can you say about his unjust imprisonment?"

"He didn't receive a trial, he didn't get a lawyer, he was called a monster. A shame, really. He's a fine fellow, and what happened to him will never, as long as I'm Minister, happen again."

"And...Voldemort?"

If Fudge had a problem with Sirius Black, he had a heart attack when he heard Hermione's last word. His teacup fell to the floor, smashing into a thousand tiny pieces. His fist slammed onto the desk, his eyes widened, and Hermione nearly jumped from the couch. She knew people reacted violently to Voldemort's name - she had for the longest time until Harry rid her of the habit - yet she had never seen anyone have such a fit.

"My dear girl!" Fudge whispered, his eyes darting around as if Voldemort himself would appear. "Do not speak his name!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Fear of the name increases fear of the thing itself."

"Yes, well..."

"What do you plan to do about Vold - You-Know-Who?"

"What's there to do? Everybody is in s-such a hubbub about it...t-there's nothing going on that's a threat to the Ministry-"

Hermione stood up so violently that the great couch rocked. "It's not a threat to the Ministry, but what about ordinary wizards and witches? We live in fear because we never know who will be attacked, or when, or how! I'm sure you're cozy enough in your grand office," Hermione cried, waving her hand around. She was breathing hard now and her hair was flying all over her face. "Our family and friends are being murdered!"

"Our Aurors are-"

"You're doing nothing! Nothing, Minister, nothing! Ever since Voldemort rose, you've been ignoring the obvious. He's alive and has followers. They're everywhere. If I was a Death Eater and decided to kill you, you wouldn't believe me! You're blind! You're-"

"I'm afraid," Fudge said, his voice meek, "this interview is over."

"I should say it is! And Merlin help you when this," Hermione said and thrust her list of questions and answers in his face, "gets published on the front page of the Daily Prophet!" Hermione hid her satisfaction at the nervous look on Fudge's face. She pivoted, walked out the door, and slammed it behind her only to find every pair of eyes in the waiting area upon her. "He's a madman," Hermione said, then walked to the Mouving. She slipped her press badge into its mouth and said, "The lobby."

The rain outside was blissfully cool on her skin. She turned her face upward toward the sky, her head whirling. Without knowing why, Hermione felt tears mingle with the rain drops on her face. She was being absurd and she knew it, but Hermione felt wretched. How could Fudge sit there and watch his wizarding world be torn apart by a man, who's very name makes Fudge tremble. Hermione shook her head and wiped the water off her face. She didn't bother in casting a Waterproofing Charm on herself.

She glanced at her watch. Six o'clock. Hermione stood debating for a moment, then decided to go home. She was in no mood to write now, thanks to Fudge. Quickly, making sure her questions from the interview were still in place, she ran down Diagon Alley and into the Leaky Cauldron. Not even stopping for a word with Tom, Hermione bolted out into rainy Muggle London and headed home.

***

Ginny threw her quill on the floor and stared at it, giving it her worst 'you're-insufferable' look, and then realized it was a quill she was glaring at. She scrunched her nose and stared at her piece of parchment. She had been trying to write, but her success was limited and she ended up covering the entire sheet with doodles of faces, phoenixes, and unicorns. Ginny had told herself to quit, but no! Her hand continued to disobey her and waste her ink on disfigured sketches.

In a moment of frustration, Ginny looked out the window and down upon Diagon Alley to calm her. The rain still slapped at the window in a steady pattern. She watched as people below her walked in an out of shops, some using umbrellas to shield themselves and others using charms. During the summer she would watch as children ran from shop to shop in excitement, but in autumn the children were at Hogwarts and the streets were left to boring elders. How she missed those days at Hogwarts. Just yesterday, she had visited a distraught Hermione, and to preoccupy Hermione with something else, Ginny began reliving Hogwarts. Hermione eagerly joined in, and now Ginny missed it more than ever.

Ginny knocked her ink off the desk when the door in front of her banged open. There was a shatter of glass and a sigh, and Ginny cringed. Afraid of what awaited her laziness, she looked up at the man in the doorway.

Remus Lupin. Not your average sort of fellow, Ginny had to agree, but pleasant nonetheless. He had a rough look about him and was usually very timid, but Ginny knew he could get a bee in his bonnet. His quiet anger was unbearable and although he rarely shouted, Ginny wished he would do it more. She was used to the shouting of her mother when she went on a rampage, but she was not used to the displeased tone.

But Remus wasn't a bad character. He was nice and fair (usually, because he tended to be biased in terms of Quidditch) and just happened to be a werewolf. This hadn't stopped Remus from establishing his own law company in the heart of Diagon Alley. He had recruited jobless Ginny as his secretary of sorts, but Ginny did more than just paperwork. She was sent nearly all over England to get files and often times met with clients. More often than not, Ginny stayed late with Remus, going over files in search of just the right piece of evidence.

And once in a while, Ginny would forget her duties and Remus would become annoyed. Like now, for instance.

"Interesting way of writing out letters, Ginny," Remus said, raising his eyebrows at the ink and the drawn-on parchment on the floor.

"Sorry," she said, and bit her lip. "I got distracted."

"I noticed."

"I honestly don't know why you bother to keep me here. I can't commit."

Remus smiled. "Ah, but who else would stay with me until midnight?"

"Depends on what you're doing till midnight."

"Ginny," he warned, but she was relieved to note the grin on his face. "When you finally have enough of soiling my carpet, could you please - argh!"

Remus suddenly fell forward under the weight of two other men. Ginny shot from her chair and rushed to help Remus. One of the men was lifting him up, too, and patting his shoulder. "Sorry, sorry. I was in a rush...didn't notice where I was Apparating.... Are you okay? Here, help me take him to a chair."

Ginny looked at the man's face and found that it was Harry Potter she was facing. She was about to remark about his landing but the troubled look on his face halted her words. The man next to her turned out to be Ron, her own brother. He, too, wore a look of worriment. Ginny quickly helped the two heave Remus into her empty chair. As soon as they put him down, he stood back up and stared at them. "I'm not an old man."

"Yet," Ginny said, then looked at Ron and Harry. "What happened?"

Harry's sad, green eyes met hers. "Hogsmeade was attacked. Death Eaters." Ginny glanced to Ron for agreement, and judging by his expression, there was nothing disputable about it.

"Was anyone hurt?" she asked. Harry cast his eyes down, then looked at Remus, and then out the window.

"It's Halloween."

Ginny clapped her hands to her face as her stomach turned cold. "First Hogsmeade trip for Hogwarts of the year..."

"How many?" Remus asked, his voice dead and grave. Ginny glanced at Ron, who remained silent.

Harry licked his lips. "Twenty three. All of them - they were all students."

"Dammit!" Remus yelled, and slammed his fist into the window. It made a loud smacking noise, but the glass did not break. Ginny stared dimly at the wall, suddenly intrigued by the bricks. The way they stayed together with just cement - what the hell was she doing, wondering about bricks? Twenty-three had been killed. Students. Fifth years. First years. Eleven-year-olds...just children...killed...forever. She felt her body convulse and she grabbed the desk to steady herself. How would the parents feel? The teachers? She looked over at Ron and Harry, who were giving each other looks. What if she had been at Hogsmeade and they had suddenly died, right before her eyes. She wouldn't stand it. She couldn't stand it.

"I ought to go to Hogwarts...Dumbledore," Remus said, pushing his way between Ginny and Harry.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Dumbledore'll want us - certain people - over there. To help...." Remus grabbed his cloak, took his wand off his desk, then Apparated without further word. There was a tense silence in the room. Ginny drew in a loud breath, rattling like a Dementor's, and causing Ron and Harry to look at her.

"All right?" Ron asked, speaking for the first time. His voice, like Remus', was flat, almost as if he was forcing the words from his mouth. Ginny swallowed and nodded, though she felt as if she needed to retch. She looked at her brother, and in a moment of confusion Ginny threw herself at him in a hug. And for once, Ron didn't protest. He wrapped his long arm around Ginny and they stood like that, Ginny inhaling the scent of her him.

Feeling Harry's eyes on them, Ginny slipped from his embrace and turned to Harry, who quickly averted his gaze. But Ginny caught him by surprise and almost giggled at his reaction when she hugged him, too. The past year Harry had turned into more of a friend...a brother, but there were boundaries she hadn't crossed. This - hugging - was one of them. She closed her eyes against his shoulder and asked, "How come the two of you are back in the middle of the afternoon?"

It was Harry who pulled away. "We got let out because they needed our trainers to go and help in Hogsmeade." Ginny was in wonder at how easily he said it all. Harry and Ron were both in Auror training. It ran hard and fast and wore the two out, but every weekend they were filled with stories to tell. They had been training for the past two years, and in one more, they would be official Aurors.

"Have you told Hermione?" she said, and surprisingly Ron's ears didn't go red as she said her name.

"Not yet," Harry said. "Guess we should."

"Think she's back from work yet?"

"She wouldn't be," Ginny said, remembering from the conversation last night that Hermione had landed herself a huge article to write.

"To the Daily Prophet, then," Ron said, and was about to Apparate when Harry caught his arm. He looked at Ginny.

"Will you be okay? Do you want us to stay until you get home?"

Ginny smiled warily. "No, I'll just put up the wards and go home. It's not too far - just a few blocks. I can always go to Sirius' later if I feel lonely. Go find Hermione."

Ron met her eyes for a moment longer than necessary, then Apparated. Harry gave her a lopsided smile and also disappeared. Ginny was left alone in the office space. She glared out the window at the falling rain and slumped into her chair. The heavens cried for those who died, and despite herself, Ginny joined along.

*

The Daily Prophet office was in a frenzy. From the moment Johnathen Puggy walked in the office, blaring that Hogsmeade had been attacked, everyone began the complicated process of sorting fact from rumor and putting together coherent words. Although it was a sort of relief for Hermione to have something other than Fudge to write about, she was distraught. Mr. Penning had dropped a stack of reports on her desk dealing with the attack and she had come close to throwing them out the window. She did not need this.

But, being Hermione, she was determined. At once she began to go through them, discarding outrageous reports of the attacks on the Ministry and other parts of Diagon Alley. She was not writing the article - not after what she said to Mr. Penning. Hermione was only giving facts to the writers, and she hated it. She wanted to write, to get recognition, to let Mr. Penning know that she could do it.

"GRANGER!"

Hermione looked up, quite used to her name being yelled across the pen. Near the stairs stood Mr. Penning's assistant, Oswald-something, the most annoying person in the entire office. Hermione stood up to get to him before he yelled anything else, but he was a step ahead of her. "YOUR BOYFRIENDS ARE HERE!"

The entire pen burst into laughter. Behind Oswald, Hermione could see Harry and Ron, both looking a bit pink in the face. Hermione shoved her way through people to get to them. She grabbed both of their hands and pulled them away before Oswald could say something. If she could, she would have said something witty back to Oswald, but she was not witty. That was Ron's specialty.

Suddenly she realized that Ron was there, and she was pulling him into the office by his hand. His hand. Hermione rolled her eyes; she was acting like a teenager. Scolding herself, she pushed them into her office, shut the door, and dropped the blinds. She turned around and looked them over. Harry had a serious look on his face, like usual, and he seemed unsure what to do with himself. He still had sloppy hair, green eyes, and glasses, and he most definitely still had his scar.

Hermione then looked at Ron, who looked as if his mind wasn't totally in his office. His blue eyes seemed glazed over, and judging by his unusually pale face Hermione guessed they were here to tell her about Hogsmeade.

"Hermione-"

"I know," she said, cutting Harry off. "Can't you tell by what's going on out there?" she asked, jerking her head toward the pen.

"So then you know...everything?"

"Probably more than you," Hermione said, and leaned against her bookshelf, feeling suddenly nauseous. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and rocked a bit, focusing on her shoes. Another pair of shoes appeared next to hers, and she looked up to find herself staring into Ron's face. His expression was too complicated to be read. He stood there for a moment, looking at her with part concern, then out of nowhere wrapped his arms around her torso. Hermione choked and pressed her face into his robes, her arms still pinned to her stomach. She wasn't crying, but her eyes where shut tightly. "They didn't deserve to die."

"No."

"Then why did they?" she asked, pulling away slightly.

"Because," Harry said, startling Hermione, for she had forgotten about him, "there are evil people in the world. They are the ones who deserve to die." Hermione watched his eyes darken as he stared at the back of Ron's head, deep in thought. Hermione was suddenly afraid of Harry, much like she had been in third year when he was out for Sirius' blood. He didn't know it, but Harry was very frightening.

"How long do you have to stay here?" Ron asked.

Hermione looked around her cluttered office. "It could be a while."

"Do you want us to stay?"

"It's all right. How come you two aren't at work?"

"Our instructors needed to get to Hogsmeade."

"Oh," she said. What else was there to say? Everything seemed so inappropriate, so unimportant. "Where are you headed now? Do you have a few days off?"

"No," Harry said, his face showing the strain of his training. "We're going to somewhere in Northern England tomorrow."

"Well then you should go home," Hermione said. "You need sleep - both of you - and there's no point in the two of you doddling about here."

"You'll be okay?"

"I live in Muggle London. How much more okay can I get?"

"All right then, we're off," Harry said, and the two walked from her office. Hermione looked around and the various things she still had to do. She blew the hair out of her eyes and got to work.

*

"Mr. Black! Mr. Black! Who has the Ministry sent to help with Hogsmeade?"

"Aurors, Medizwizards, Hit Wizards, and just about everybody else except me."

"Mr. Black, this is Richard Loom from Witch Weekly. Can you tell me what the Minister's reaction is?"

"I'm not sure...he was sent out to Hogsmeade, too," Sirius said, then waited for the small bout of laughter to cease. "Minister Fudge doesn't have a comment as of yet." He grabbed his glass of water and took a deep, long sip. He had been here only for fifteen minutes and already the press was bombarding him with questions. He looked out over the crowd, all crammed in the tiny room. Through the small windows on the right Sirius could see that it was still raining.

"Mr. Black, has Dumbledore said anything?"

"Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, and Tweak," Sirius said. All who had attended Hogwarts under Dumbledore gave out a hearty chuckle, despite what had happened at Hogsmeade. That's what Sirius had intended to do; he hated gloomy times. "Dumbledore's been busy at Hogwarts and hasn't said anything, either. If that's all, I'd like to head back-"

"One last question!" called someone from the many faces. "Will you inform us if anything new presents itself?"

"Yes. Stay around if you want more gossip," Sirius said, then disappeared back into the main area of the Ministry. Someone shoved something into his hands, another person was discussing something that Sirius didn't particularly care about. He was walking full speed down the hallway, making a straight line to the Minister's office. As he walked, he found it ironic that the very same place that had put him in Azkaban was now where he worked.

He had studied law before Voldemort's downfall, even though James Potter, his best friend, had studied to become an Auror. Now, after his release from Azkaban, Sirius was the top lawyer for the Minister and spokesperson for him, too. He enjoyed his job fairly enough. Sometimes he had the insane urge to hex Fudge, but usually Sirius could hold his tongue.

Sirius had arrived at a Mouving, so he slipped his Ministry badge into its mouth and said, "Fudge's meeting room." The Mouving blew on him and in an instant Sirius had left behind all those who had clustered around him before. He found himself in a dimly lit hallway with cracked wood paneling running down the walls. The rug, a deep blood colored, had stained splotches here and there. There were very few doors, but the one Sirius was looking for was at the end of the hallway. He passed two gruff looking goblins with a nod and slipped inside the room.

The room, much like the hallway leading up to it, was old and musty. The ceiling was high and dome-shaped and there were five giant windows that looked over some sort of field. In the center was a large, round table where twenty or so people could sit. At the head of the big table was Minister Fudge in a maroon suit, discussing something with a woman whom Sirius had never seen before.

Sirius cleared his throat so that he caught the attention of the room. People who had been shuffling about stopped and someone dropped a glass onto the table with a thud. Fudge waved Sirius over and everyone immediately started moving again. "Evening, Mr. Fudge," Sirius said, then glanced at the woman. Fudge caught his glanced and stood up importantly.

"Sirius Black, meet Maria Sanchez, my new advisor of sorts."

She held her hand out and Sirius shook it, giving her a short smile. She wasn't gorgeous, but she did have a pretty face and dark skin. Sirius, however, paid no attention to her. Instead he leaned over Fudge's shoulder. "I've just finished the meeting with the press, but I told them to hang around in case you decide to give any other notices out. How's it been going up here?"

"Maria and I are in a bit of disagreement."

"A bit of disagreement?" Maria hissed. Sirius' eyebrows jerked up.

"Well, it's not much. I mean, how important is-"

"With all due respect, Minister Fudge, I think it's a little more than a small problem."

"She likes to get her hair in knots over small things," Fudge whispered loudly, giving Sirius a wink.

"Mr. Fudge, can I not tell you enough how ridiculous it would be to-"

"Please, let's not reiterate ourselves to no extent!"

"You obviously cannot grasp what I'm saying!"

"I-"

"Excuse me!" Sirius said over both of them. "Can I ask what's going on?"

"You'll need to go back down to the press room in a moment, Mr. Black," Maria said angrily. "Mr. Fudge has just decided to do the most idiotic thing he can."

"What?"

Fudge heaved a sigh, glanced apologetically at Maria, and turned to Sirius. "I'm afraid I have to close Hogwarts."