Reforms

Arthur Weasley, Minister for Magic, was sat in his small office, absentmindedly toying with the heavy gold chain that fastened his cloak around his neck. It had only been his office for a few days. It had only existed for a few more than that; part of a new Ministry building in North Wales.

The chaos that had come with the defeat of Voldemort was horrific. His last act, his final injury to the wizarding world, had been to spark a chain of events that had torn across the country, with ripples spreading out as far as the continent.

Apparently he'd still been sane enough to think of a back up plan. When the battle at Hogwarts had turned in favour of the defenders, he had triggered a spell which had darkened the skies for three days. Terrific cyclones had touched down in mainland Britain, targeting wizarding towns with pinpoint accuracy.

Worse still, when the remaining Death Eaters saw Voldemort fall, they disapparated from the field of battle en masse. No-one had been happy to see them go; in the time it took for Voldemort's body to lie still on the ground, every single one had vanished, and their obvious coordination was a sign of yet more to come.

Arthur sighed. The Ministry was still running on less than half the normal number of employees, and those who were still coming to work were working 30-hour shifts. So far they were nowhere near to detecting the spells that the Death Eaters had used to create the areas of unstable magic that had formed at random locations through the UK.

Anyone attempting to cast a spell, apparate or fly within in these areas took their life in their own hands. They could come out unscathed, without ever realising they'd passed through a 'denatured zone'. They could come out a different colour, or with a different number of limbs. They could never come out.

The British government had been forced to explain the devastation as a terrorist attack, originating from within Southern England. Arthur was getting memos every few hours from the Prime Minister asking what he planned to do about the state of the country.

Arthur couldn't even tell him that all the Death Eaters had been caught. There was still sporadic activity being reported from around the UK. There was just no way for the meagre forces they still had to get to the scene in time to do anything but witness the latest destruction, always lit by the eerie morsmordre.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, contemplating the ridiculous situation he was in. After the magically induced natural destruction, countless more lives had been lost until they realised exactly what the Death Eaters had disapparated from the field of battle to do. They had needed someone to take charge, a new leader to unite behind. Arthur still couldn't believe that was him.

He'd thought Harry should be the one for the wizarding world to follow, but Harry had had other ideas. From the witches and wizards who had been present at the Hogwarts battle, it was Mr. Weasley who had been chosen.

"Trust me, Mr. Weasley," Harry had said, "you're the right man for the job."

"I wouldn't know where to start." Arthur had protested.

"You know the way the Ministry works, and more than that, you know how it could work. You know how scared people are going to be right now, but you won't try to shield them from the truth. I can't think of a single person who I would trust more than you to do the right thing," Harry had replied earnestly, and that had been enough for Mr. Weasley to make the decision.

He had accepted the challenge, and three days ago owls had been sent across the country, declaring him as the new Minister for Magic. The time since then had been spent organising teams of aurors and mediwitches to travel to the worst affected areas of the UK to see what help they could provide.

As soon as the first report of Death Eater activity had come in, Arthur had enlisted the members of the Order to investigate any Death Eater appearances, their numbers supplemented by some of the recently graduated Hogwarts' seventh years. They were reassuring the witches and wizards in the towns they visited, but they were always one step behind the Death Eaters, and Arthur was desperately praying for their luck to change.

He had spent the morning trying to work out what to tell the Prime Minister in their meeting tomorrow. The man looked like he was getting closer and closer to having an apoplectic fit every time they met, and Arthur didn't have good news for him this time. Central London had been one of the worst hit by the cyclones, and most buildings had been flattened. Unfortunately Arthur had just received a report detailing the vast extent of a 'denatured zone' that enveloped over two thirds of the devastated area.

Arthur checked the time, and shook the gloomy thoughts from his head. He crossed to the fireplace, thanking Merlin that at least the Floo network was still in action. It was five minutes to five, and he needed to go home. These days, if he was so much as a minute late through the fireplace, Molly would already be getting upset. He didn't mind her fussing; at least she was still alive to worry about him. He counted himself lucky.

"The Burrow," he said, smiling as he stepped into the flames.

Tomorrow would be the fourth day of the new wizarding world.