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Contagion | ||||||
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Category: Post-Hogwarts Characters:None Genres: Drama Warnings: Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 210 Summary: Muggle and magical illnesses are separate. Until they’re not. Harry has always had a discernable enemy. This time, he’s fighting an invisible and indiscriminate threat. Part of the Cuts universe. Hitcount: Story Total: 112767; Chapter Total: 1738 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: |
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Unintended Consequences Harry pressed the lift button for level nine and tried to shake off his apprehension. An interdepartmental memo in the form of a paper airplane was still clutched in his hand. There was no reason for his disquiet, really, but truth be told, the Department of Mysteries still gave him the creeps. When he’d read the few brief words from Vivian requesting that he meet her in the brain room, Harry couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran through his whole body. He really hated it down there. Fortunately, the lift was empty, so he was able to avoid any unnecessary stares. It seemed everyone wanted to stop him for a chat these days. Hermione told them they were looking for an invitation to the wedding. She’d had a number of people approach her, as well, to see if she would influence Harry for them. People had gone mad. When the lift stopped, the cool, female voice announced they’d reached the Department of Mysteries, and Harry hurried toward the black door. So much of the Ministry, and the entire Atrium, had been refurbished after the war, but that blasted lift voice remained unchanged. Harry wondered if there was anything that could be done about it. He pushed open the black door and found himself in that nightmarish circular room. He knew how to use it now, however, so his stay was fortunately brief once he’d asked for the brain room. He inexplicably found himself missing Ron. It wasn’t as if he and Ron had always worked on the same cases, but it happened often enough that Harry felt the absence of his presence quite keenly. Ron had always been there, solid, irascible. He knew Ron was only a few blocks away in Diagon Alley, and he’d see him at home that evening, but sometimes, during the day, Harry simply felt bereft without him. He shook his head. He was being stupid. The Department of Mysteries always made him feel stupid. He spotted Vivian standing over a tank with a table set in front of it. He recognized two brains lying side-by-side on the table, and he suppressed another shudder, his mind flashing to the tentacles sinisterly twisting around Ron’s forearms. The quiet in the room felt unnatural. Vivian wore her Bubble-Head Charm, so Harry quickly cast one on himself as he approached the table. “Morning, Vivian,” he said, clearing his throat and trying to act casual. She’d seen him at one of his lowest points — not to mention examined him in nothing but his pants — so interacting with her continued to be awkward. For him, anyway. She was as inscrutable as always. “Good morning, Potter. Thank you for joining me,” she said, never taking her eyes off the brains in front of her. They were leaving wet marks on the table surrounding them. “Care to share your thoughts?” Harry asked, wondering if she’d reprimand him for his cheek, but she actually smiled. “I’m making a comparison on two of our Spattergroit victims,” she said. “The former owners of these two brains contracted it at relatively the same time, although their experiences were vastly different, despite the eventual fatality.” Harry didn’t want to ask her who the victims were, or how she’d come to have their brains in her possession, but he couldn’t stop the macabre thought, wondering if one of them was a former Quidditch player, or someone Ginny had known personally. It was an eerie thought, and he grimaced, trying to keep his professional demeanor in place. “And have you noticed anything?” he asked, pleased his voice was steady and sure. “I didn’t, no, but one of the Healers I’ve been working with did. This brain,” she said, indicating the one on the left, “came from a Muggle, whereas this one is from a magical victim. Obviously both contagions were fatal, but the magical brain suffered vastly more damage.” Harry looked at each brain in turn, but had no idea what she was talking about. They looked the same to him. “I don’t see anything,” he admitted. Vivian waved her wand, making a projection of one of the brains hover in the air in front of her, magnified to several times its natural size. “Here,” she said, indicating an area that had some shadowing, much darker than other areas. “This is the magical brain. Now, on both brains, the cerebral cortex — the outer surface of the brain — is smaller than a normal brain. The Healers have explained that the disease causes the brain to atrophy, and that is seen in both Muggle and Magical victims. The difference is in the severe shadowing we see only on the magical brain.” “What does this mean for those who survived and recovered?” Harry asked sharply, his heart beating fast. Were Ron and Ginny’s brains damaged? They seemed perfectly normal, but what if the damage was permanent, and what consequences would it have? Vivian raised her hand in a calming gesture, the image of the brain disappearing. “My apologies. I should’ve reassured you first. Once we knew what we were looking for, we were able to examine the brains of our living victims through their diagnostic scans. All of those treated with the Mandrake Draught — both Muggle and magical — have had normal brain scans. No shadowing remains, and the size is back to normal, meaning the brain has also regenerated.” “I didn’t know that was possible,” Harry said. “The purpose of the Mandragora root is to revert a subject back to their original state. It appears to have done that. I believe the brief memory lapses and… lags in their recovery, for lack of a better word, took place while the brain was undergoing this regeneration. “What I want to draw your attention to now is the Muggle brain,” Vivian said, re-waving her wand, and this time, the other brain’s image appeared in front of them. This was about the same size, but there was none of the deep shadows that had appeared on the other brain. “You’ll notice the absence of the shadowing.” “Why do you suppose that is?” Harry asked curiously. Vivian paused. “I only have a theory at the moment,” Vivian said, her eyes guarded. “Most discoveries begin with a theory,” Harry said, remembering a time when Professor Dumbledore had told him they were leaving the area of known fact and entering the realm of possibilities in regard to Tom Riddle. Dumbledore’s theories had proved amazingly accurate. Vivian nodded. “Let me give you a little background first on how I came to be involved with this case. Although I never completed my qualifications to become a Healer, it was my area of study before joining the Ministry, so my background is medical. It’s my chosen area of study here in the Department of Mysteries. I was already investigating various Muggle anomalies after learning of the Muggle experimentation in the transcripts of various Death Eater trials when our contagion began. “At the beginning, I felt I was spinning my wheels trying to connect the illness between the two groups since something affecting both to this extent was unprecedented. My curiosity was piqued however, by a conversation we had at Grimmauld Place about Muggle immunizations.” “I vaguely recall the conversation,” Harry said. Truly, his mind had been in such turmoil once Ginny, and then Ron, became ill. “My father was Muggleborn, so he’d had all his Muggle inoculations as a child, and explained them to me when I inquired about a mark left on his upper arm. Apparently, one of those inoculations left a scar. Anyway, I began a comparison on the number of Pureblood wizards affected as opposed to Half-bloods or Muggleborns. I found that the more serious cases were all in those of Pureblood parentage.” “But this disease also affected Muggles. So how does that fit?” Harry asked. Vivian nodded. “It did affect them, however, it affected them differently, and when we were trying to understand why, we thought, what if it was in the alterations made to Gethin’s experiment? What if, when the Death Eaters were trying to find a way to harm Muggles, and Gethin was trying to heal magical people of Spattergroit scarring, something was crossed.” “I’m still not following you,” Harry said slowly. “I think what the two entities were trying to do wasn’t compatible. The Death Eaters were trying to inflict a magical illness on Muggles, but as so few wizards truly understand anything about Muggles, they didn’t take the inoculations Muggles receive into consideration. I think the inoculations for common Muggle illnesses actually helped them recover from this altered magical disease. In turn, magical folk were unable to combat it, because only those with some sort of Muggle ancestry had the antibodies to fight it,” Vivian said. “But Muggles did catch it,” Harry said, perplexed. “They did, but those that died weren’t young, healthy individuals like their magical counterparts. They were mostly older, with underlying health conditions,” Vivian said. “Perhaps they weren’t up-to-date on their inoculations.” “So, you think the Death Eaters created this to attack Muggles, and some sort of weird instance of fate turned it back on them?” Harry asked, wondering where this cosmic justice had been all those years he’d been fighting Voldemort. Vivian shrugged. “It’s possible. I’m not certain about fate, but the turnabout would be a Death Eater’s worst nightmare, no?” “So… where do we go with this?” Harry asked, suspecting she wanted something from him. This wasn’t the kind of information Vivian simply shared without getting something in return. “I know you and Auror Savage are questioning Osbert Fawley later today. I wonder if I might sit in on that, or at least observe it?” she asked, moving to stand in front of him. The clicking of her heels against the floor was the only sound in the room. Harry paused, deliberating. Owen wouldn’t be happy, but he thought her theory was worth investigation. Their skittish shop keeper had finally given them a name, and it had been the one Harry already had some suspicions about. “All right. Let me prepare Owen first, though, yeah?” he asked, grinning. Vivian returned his smile. “Consider it done.” It was a lot more difficult to convince Owen to allow Vivian into their questioning of Osbert Fawley than Harry had anticipated. Owen was still holding a grudge for the way Vivian had taken over their case. Harry also suspected he was still smarting over the way they’d been held in the safe house all that time ago without any explanation. In the end, Gawain Robards made the call that she would be allowed to view the interrogation with him behind an observatory window. Owen wasn’t pleased, but Harry thought it was a good compromise. Vivian could fill in Robards on her theory, and perhaps they could startle Fawley with what they knew — or at least what he thought they knew. Harry carried a bit of parchment into the interrogation room, while Vivian had a matching piece with her on the other side of the glass. Anything written on the parchment would appear on both copies, that way they could communicate without the suspect being any the wiser. “Now remember, this isn’t your average, run-of-the-mill suspect. He has some powerful connections, and if any of those connections are involved in this, I want to know about them. Mind your manners, but don’t allow him to feel he’s in control at any point of the interrogation,” Robards said, glaring particularly fiercely at Owen. “Do I make myself clear?” “Crystal,” Owen said grudgingly, leading the way into the glass interrogation room. Harry followed, wondering if they shouldn’t have given Owen longer to collect himself. He really didn’t like to lose. Harry thought it might be prudent if he led this one. Osbert Fawley was an older wizard with neatly trimmed grey hair and mustache. He wore expensive, well-tailored, smoky grey robes, and his mouth was set in a grim line. His irritation at being called in for questioning exuded from him, and the Aurors had left him to stew for nearly an hour before joining him in the interrogation room. He was livid. Unsurprisingly, all the letters, complaints and demands to stop their investigation had ceased once it became clear the Aurors were continuing their inquiry. Suddenly, those members of the Wizengamot who had staunchly defended Fawley were unavailable for comment. When Owen and Harry had followed up with some of the letter-writers, they had backpedaled their support, leaving Fawley out to dry. It seemed a lot of people didn’t want the subject of Muggle testing looked into too closely, but if it was going to happen, they didn’t want their names associated with it in any way. Even some of the Fawley family had distanced themselves from Osbert, claiming he’d dissociated himself from them and had been acting erratically. He was an island, and the time had come for Owen and Harry to make their move. “It’s about time,” Fawley snarled, eyes bulging, when they finally joined him. “I’m a busy man, and I don’t have all day to sit around twiddling my thumbs waiting out your blatant stall tactics.” “Sorry for the delay,” Harry said pleasantly. “As I’m certain you’re aware, there are multiple cases being conducted.” Fawley’s narrowed eyes were like cold chips of ice behind his gold-rimmed spectacles as he perused Harry appraisingly. “Mister Potter—” he began, but Harry interrupted. “That’s Auror Potter, actually. Please continue.” Fawley glared and clenched his teeth. “Auror Potter, I realize you’ve become accustomed to getting your own way under the current administration, but I can assure you, you’re making a mistake.” “Well, that’s what we’re here to determine, isn’t it?” Harry said, raising his eyebrows. “I’d like to discuss some of the orders given during the time the Death Eaters were running St. Mungo’s, if you please.” “The Death Eaters were never running St. Mungo’s,” Fawley said hotly, his cool demeanor cracking. “We followed orders from the Ministry, but the mission of our magical hospital remained the same — to give outstanding care to our magical brethren.” “I see. A very noble goal. And does that lofty ideal include Muggleborns?” Harry asked lightly. “It includes all who seek care through our doors and are born to magic, regardless of their parentage,” Fawley said, regaining some of his composure. Harry noted a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, however. Harry nodded encouragingly. “That’s good to know, because according to some of the transcripts from various trials of Death Eaters now incarcerated in Azkaban, St. Mungo’s became a key arsenal in Voldemort’s war against the Muggles.” As Harry expected he would, Fawley gasped and cowered away from the name. “There’s no harm in hearing the name, Mr. Fawley. He’s dead, and he’s not coming back. Voldemort! Voldemort! Voldemort! See — nothing happens,” Harry said lightly, enjoying the way the man squirmed. The continued nonsense surrounding that name drove him spare. An ugly scowl crossed Fawley’s face as he narrowed his eyes at Harry. “You go ahead and be as smug as you want. You spent the war safely tucked away in hiding. Those of us who remained behind to uphold our responsibilities had a taboo to worry about. Those fears don’t go away easily,” he sneered. Owen coughed dramatically. “You’re not seriously suggesting that Harry Potter had it easy during the war, are you, mate? Do you remember him being hunted as Undesirable Number One? He was never out of Voldemort’s mind. In fact, I think the whole taboo was put in place in an attempt to track him. Of course, most of his followers still avoid the name,” Owen said speculatively, his eyes darting to Fawley’s covered forearm. “I was never one of his followers,” Fawley spat, pulling up the sleeve on his robe to reveal bare, unmarked skin. “See, there’s nothing there.” “There were plenty who endorsed his ideals without taking the Mark,” Harry said quietly. “Here’s what I think,” Owen said, leaning on the conference table separating them, staring directly into Fawley’s eyes. “I think the Death Eaters were using the potions lab at St. Mungo’s, experimenting with ways to spread their death and destruction to the Muggle world without them realizing what was happening. I imagine there were loads of experiments being conducted. It wouldn’t be that hard for some of those samples to simply disappear and be tucked away for potential use at a later date.” “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but I have always supported the good Healers at St. Mungo’s,” Fawley said, the sweat beginning to collect on his forehead. His glasses slipped down his nose slightly, and he had to readjust them. “Yes, you’ve always given loads of gold to worthy causes. Your reputation is outstanding,” Harry said calmly. Fawley puffed himself up. “I’m glad to see you’ve noticed. Why on earth am I here being subjected to this lunacy, then?” “You’re also a large contributor to the Quidditch League, am I correct?” Harry asked. Fawley paled slightly and swallowed heavily. “What does that have to do with anything?” he asked with forced calm. “As I understand it, you’ve been advocating for a change in how gold is dispersed amongst the teams for some time now,” Harry said. Fawley tugged at the collar of his robes. “What does this have to do with St. Mungo’s?” Harry tilted his head to the side, shrugging. “Well, I imagine a large outbreak of an illness that is wiping out Muggles being traced back to a Quidditch match as being the spreader would go a long way in damaging the reputation of the League. It would sway public opinion away from the current League officials, perhaps leaving an opening for new leadership. As we all know, the general public can be very fickle,” he said casually. Rivulets of sweat were trickling down Fawley’s face now. “You’re barking,” he gasped. “Of course, that was before the results of the contagion began turning on the magical community. In fact, it affected Pureblood wizards more than any other, isn’t that correct?” Harry asked relentlessly. Owen shook his head. “That certainly would look bad for someone who was supposedly going after Muggles. Such a culprit would have both groups upset with him, no?” he asked mockingly. “This is outrageous. Just because I support both St. Mungo’s and the Quidditch League doesn’t imply I’m out to destroy both of them,” Fawley said, slamming his fist onto the table. “But… that is how it’s now being perceived, is it not? At least amongst those aware of your machinations?” Harry asked. Fawley’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have any proof of my involvement in your outrageous fantasies?” Harry casually looked down as writing appeared on his parchment. Looking back up, he asked the question Vivian had suggested, “Of course, most of the public is, as yet, unaware of how lethal the contagion was to Pureblood wizards. I wonder how they’ll feel when that fact hits the press?” “I would imagine the press needs facts to run a story,” Fawley said in a strangled voice. Harry laughed bitterly. “Oh, right. ‘A paradigm of integrity’ is always the phrase I use to describe the Prophet,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Imagine how angry the true Healers at St. Mungo’s would be, knowing the origins of this illness, which wreaked such havoc, came from within its own walls,” Owen said. “Not to mention the Quidditch League learning it was to be used as a pawn of mass destruction over a power struggle,” Harry added. “A power struggle for gold. It always comes back to gold, doesn’t it?” Owen asked. “No, I can’t imagine either group will be happy. Anyone crossing both powerful entities would have a lot to answer for, not to mention the underground supporters of the Dark Arts who remain to this day. I can’t see how they’d support a disease that attacks Pureblood wizards,” Harry said musingly. “That’s right, you have a lot of experience with those Dark Arts supporters, don’t you, Auror Potter? I know they like to play with their victims before killing them,” Owen said. “Some really ugly methods of torture. So uncivilized.” Fawley glanced at Owen warily, his eyes darting at the glass walls. If Harry didn’t know better, he’d think he was looking for an escape route. He was sweating profusely now. Harry smiled tightly. “Here’s what’s going to happen. While we’ve been having our chat, a team of Aurors has been searching your residence,” he said. “Your private Nottingham residence,” Owen added, grinning. Ugly red coloring suffused Fawley’s face. “You have no right,” he spluttered. “We have every right, and we’ve obtained the necessary paperwork. Now, as I said, a team has been searching your Nottingham residence,” Harry repeated. “Including the secret cupboard behind the bookcase,” Owen added gleefully. Shock and dismay crossed Fawley’s face, and his mouth opened and closed soundlessly. Harry rolled his eyes. “Honestly, that’s so mystery-novel. A secret cupboard behind your bookcase? Couldn’t you have come up with anything better than that?” he asked. “Once they bring in any evidence they may find — and I bet they’ll find some — you’ll be placed under arrest with the recommendation we hold you in Azkaban until your trial,” Owen said. “You’d best hope no other phials of potential deadly Muggle-killing potions are discovered. They’ll all be tested, of course,” Harry said. Fawley’s eyes opened wide and panicked. “You can’t do that,” he said, breathing heavily. He’d lost all his bluster, and real fear shone in his eyes. “Oh, you’ll find we can,” Owen said. “They’ll kill me in Azkaban,” he howled. “I have a lot of enemies being held within those walls. You have to offer me some sort of protection, or my family will be certain there’s hell to pay.” Well, perhaps he hadn’t lost all his bluster… yet. “It was your family who told us about the secret cupboard, oddly enough, so I don’t expect they’ll be contributing much to your defense. Here’s the thing, though: I don’t think you could’ve pulled off this sort of thing alone. You must’ve had some backers,” Harry said, leaving the thought dangling like a lifeline to a drowning man. Fawley nervously pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his robes and patted his forehead repeatedly in an effort to stall for time. “Of course, were some of these mysterious backers brought to justice, that could only swing favor to your sentencing,” Harry said, sweetening the pot. “Reliable information, of course, none of this vague, namby-pamby so-and-so might’ve been involved. Solid facts only,” Owen stated. “You’re in trouble here, either way, Fawley. It’s all about whether you’re willing to go down alone,” Harry said, leaning back and crossing his arms. The ball was in Fawley’s court now. Harry hoped he’d take the bait and leak some names. He’d love to bring more of these blood-status obsessed fools to justice. They might not be wearing masks and robes, but they’d proven they could still be dangerous. Fawley took a few breaths, attempting to pull himself back together and regain his composure. “I’m not going down alone, but if I’m giving up names, I want some assurances that I’ll be protected. And I want to see it in writing before I talk,” he said, sneering. “That can be arranged. I’ll have my boss draw up a deal. You can look it over, but remember, if the names you supply aren’t valid, the contract will be null and void. You’re going to pay for what you’ve done, but we can make certain you don’t have to pay with your life,” Harry said, gritting his teeth. He hated having to bargain with this man. It was ultimately his fault Ginny and Ron had become ill, but he knew there were more names than just his behind it all. “You do that,” Fawley said, regaining some of his bluster. “I’m not saying anything more until I’ve seen this contract.” “Well, you really haven’t said all that much. We’d already worked out it was you. You just didn’t realize how deeply we’d dug,” Owen said, smiling widely. Fawley scowled. “Just get me your proposal, and I’ll let you know what I’m going to do,” he said. “All right, then. Just so you know, the door will be sealed until we return,” Harry said, getting to his feet. Smirking, Owen followed him out of the interrogation room. Ginny pressed her lips together and slammed the button on the lift. She was still sweaty from practice, but she didn’t care. She’d had enough, and she was going to have a chat with Marietta and get a few things straight. She wasn’t in the mood to be trifled with. She probably should’ve showered first, but bloody hell, she’d had enough of Marietta’s messing with her guest list. Hermione’s brilliant little charm had let her know it had been done again, and this time, it had gone too far. Harry was busy wrapping up his case, and although he’d offered to come with her, she felt she wanted to have this out with Marietta on her own. She’d tried to be patient. She’d tried to explain that she and Harry wanted the actual wedding to be personal and intimate. They wanted to be surrounded by people they really knew, who they wouldn’t feel embarrassed or wary about showing their emotions in front of. This latter part was more for Harry’s benefit, of course, but still, their feelings ought to count for something. According to the Ministry, they didn’t count at all. The invitations were about to go out, and her insides were fluttering just thinking about it. No one — not Marietta, not her mother, not bloody Gladys Flint — was going to mess with it. Ginny had heard all the stories about Banshee-Brides, and she really didn’t want to be considered one — but she’d been pushed as far as she was willing to accept. If they wanted to call her a Banshee-Bride, have at it. This was the only wedding she ever planned on having, and she’d be damned if she’d let anyone mess with it. She was aware of people stepping away from her in the lift, but she wasn’t certain if it was because of the thunderous expression on her face, or the fact she’d neglected to shower after practice. Maybe her aura was simply emanating the fact she was spoiling for a fight. Whatever it was, people scurried out of her way as she stormed down the corridor. She spotted Marietta sitting at her desk and walked right up to the front of it. “We need to talk,” she said without preamble. “G-Ginny… do we have an appointment today?” Marietta asked, eyes wide as she moved several things around on her desk. Her curly hair was down today and looking particularly bushy, oddly reminding Ginny of Hermione. “No, but we need to talk anyway,” Ginny said firmly. “Do you want to do it here, or would you prefer we use a conference room?” “Is there a problem?” a third voice asked, peering around a nearby cubicle. Cho Chang, her hair now cut short, folded her arms across her chest, frowning when she saw with whom Marietta was speaking. “No problem, and this doesn’t concern you,” Ginny said dismissively. “Are you all right, Marietta? Shall I get a supervisor?” Cho asked, ignoring Ginny completely. “N-no, it’s fine. I really don’t have time this afternoon, Ginny. Perhaps we could set up an appointment later in the week?” Marietta asked, pulling herself together. “Certainly. But I thought you ought to know I’m sending out my wedding invitations today,” Ginny said, shrugging her shoulders and turning to walk away, well aware the reaction her words would bring. “Today?” Marietta yelped. “No, you can’t do that. The lists haven’t been finalized. We need to discuss a few of the details.” Ginny stopped, turning back around and placing her hands on her hips. “I think you’ll find I can. I’m sending out my wedding invitations to the guests on my list, not this one,” she said, tossing the list she had clutched in her hand, the one with Marietta’s alterations clearly highlighted by Hermione’s charm. “What is this?” Marietta asked, her eyes scanning the list and seeing all the highlighted items. Her eyes widened even further as she read. “What’s wrong?” Cho asked, moving around the desk uninvited to look at the guest list held in Marietta’s shaking hand. “It’s my guest list, only a copy that my good friend Hermione Granger charmed to highlight any changes that I didn’t make. We suspected you were attempting to slip unapproved names in, and we’re not having it. You were assigned the task of organizing a Ministry function, not my actual wedding, and none of your changes are acceptable,” Ginny said, fuming. Marietta lost her doe-eyed confusion at the mention of Hermione’s name. Her face reddened, and she narrowed her eyes. “Granger, of course. I’m surprised she didn’t curse the list whilst she was at it.” “There was no need. We already suspected you were still a sneak,” Ginny said coolly. If possible, Marietta flushed an even deeper red. “That’s uncalled for,” Cho said angrily, placing a hand on Marietta’s shoulder. “She’s just doing her job.” “No, she’s not. She was told repeatedly that she had no say in the actual wedding. Her job is to plan the Ministry function that we agreed to. She has full reign to choose the menu, the decorations, the music, I really don’t care,” Ginny snapped. “That’s the problem — it shows,” Marietta said, her voice shaking with rage. “You’ve made it abundantly clear that this Ministry gala is merely a formality to you, that the wedding is the important invitation. Of course, people want to be on the select list. That’s only natural. This gala is an afterthought, a concession to the hundreds of people who want to be involved and congratulate the wizard who spared us all a lifetime of misery and torture. But that’s too much to ask of the great Harry Potter and the shrew he’s chosen to marry, isn’t it?” “Marietta,” Cho said awkwardly. Ginny saw red. “A shrew, am I? For standing up for myself and the plans I have for my own wedding? I can live with that. Harry doesn’t owe anyone anything anymore. He’s fulfilled far more than should ever been asked of him. This party is simply because of other people who can’t accept that and feel they still have a right to anything to do with him. This is what we agreed to. This is what the Minister agreed to. Your alterations aren’t being done on anyone’s authority, so stop pretending they are. This is nothing but the expectations of certain individuals who feel the need to interfere for their own gain.” “My apologies,” Marietta said through clenched teeth. “I was out of line.” “The invitations are going out. You will no longer be consulted on anything to do with it, even just out of courtesy, as you’ve proven you can’t be courteous. As for the gala, you need to decide if it’s something you can handle, or if it should be passed on to another organizer,” Ginny said, past caring who made the rest of the arrangements. In the mood she was in, she wasn’t even certain if she was going to show up. “That’s not acceptable. You’ve even crossed off the names of the Minister’s security detail,” Marietta said, spluttering and waving her altered list between them. “Yes, I did. The security at Hogwarts will be enhanced, a number of the guests are Aurors, and the entire remaining Order of the Phoenix will be in attendance. The Minister will be quite secure,” Ginny said. “That’s not for you to decide. The security detail is also for your own protection as not everyone is as enamored with the two of you as you seem to think they are,” Marietta snapped. Ginny tossed her head back in scoffing laughter. “As if we’d ever trust you to arrange security.” “Ginny, it’s a wedding, people are there to celebrate. A security detail will not partake in any libations, merely be there to do their job,” Cho said, placating. “Marietta is right. I think there are still a number of enemies out there who might want to do you harm.” “Have you ever met any of the house-elves at Hogwarts? They take protecting Harry very seriously, and house-elves know everything. Trust me, if there’s anything suspicious afoot, an alarm will be sounded faster than any security can get their wands out of their holsters,” Ginny said. “House-elves?” Marietta asked. “You can’t be serious. All they’re good for is cleaning up the mess afterwards.” “Clearly you haven’t actually ever spoken with one, then. Harry has managed to keep himself alive without Ministry assistance for most of his life. I don’t feel it’s necessary now. Besides, did you think I wouldn’t notice that half the names you added on the security detail were actually high-profile donors to Ministry causes? You weren’t very subtle there, at all,” Ginny said scathingly. “In fact, downright sneaky.” “How dare you?” Marietta said, sputtering. “What on earth is the meaning of all this shouting? Your voices are carrying across the department,” Gladys Flint said, storming up to Marietta’s desk, the lines in her face showing deeper with her intense disapproval. “I will not have a scene.” “Marietta has ignored the instruction not to add names to the wedding guest list, and I’m informing you all now that your alternations have been vetoed. The wedding invitations have been sent, unaltered,” Ginny said, glancing at her watch. “What do you mean they’ve been sent?” Cho asked sharply. “You said they were being sent this afternoon.” “And so I did. They were scheduled to be released simultaneously at half three. They’ve just left the Hogwarts owlery,” Ginny said, smiling sweetly. “I wish you hadn’t done that, Miss Weasley,” Gladys said, perplexed. “Certainly, we could’ve come up with something mutually acceptable.” “This list is mutually acceptable — to Harry and me — the ones actually getting married. Marietta has expressed that I need to take a more personal involvement in the Ministry gala, so I’ll be expecting your notes detailing any decisions that have been made, and I’ll add my own two Knuts, as requested,” Ginny said, eyes flashing. “That’s not what I said,” Marietta said, aghast. “Didn’t you tell me that I wasn’t respecting the gala’s importance, and its prominence to those invited to attend? I think you’re right. I think I should take more of a personal involvement, so I can be certain nothing too ostentatious or anything that would make Harry or me uncomfortable is being planned. You’ll have a list of the modifications I’d like to see made,” Ginny said unflinchingly. “Oh, by the way, I noticed you added Pius Thicknesse to the list. I want him removed, if you please.” “He's the former Minister,” Marietta said. “He’s a former Death Eater,” Ginny countered. “He was under the Imperius Curse, he couldn’t help what he did under that curse, no one can. As a former Minister, he deserves the respect due his station,” Gladys said firmly. “You can respect him all you like, but he’s not to be invited to the celebration of our wedding. We were quite clear about no Death Eaters, former or otherwise,” Ginny said, voice rising. “Is everything all right, Ginevra?” a very familiar voice asked from behind her. Ginny spun around. “Dad!” she gasped, shocked to find him standing there in his work robes, frowning at the lot of them. “What brings you here? I wasn’t aware you were visiting today. Did you come right from practice?” he asked, his kind blue eyes surveying the scene from behind his glasses. “I did — sorry about that,” Ginny said, sheepishly. Leave it to her dad to be the one to point out the fact she stunk. “I didn’t feel this could wait. The wedding invitations have been sent, I’ve assured your team that security for the wedding is being provided by Hogwarts, and that I need to take more involvement in the Ministry gala now. Oh, and that Pius Thicknesse is uninvited.” “Thicknesse? Oh, I can’t imagine anyone would’ve added him to your list,” Arthur said, shocked. “Imagine it, then,” Ginny replied grimly. “Gladys? What is the meaning of this?” Arthur asked, turning his attention to the supervisor of the Event and Conference Coordinators. Gladys looked flustered, but she fluttered her hands, placing one at her neck. “Oh! Well, as a former Minister—” she began. “No. He might’ve served his sentence and been excused of most charges, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences. I’m certain our current Minister would agree. Besides, didn’t Harry stipulate no member of Voldemort’s inner circle was acceptable?” Arthur asked sternly. “Yes, sir,” Gladys gasped, shuddering at the sound of the name. Cho and Marietta looked at one another furtively before dropping their eyes to the floor. “Miss Chang? Why are you here? I wasn’t aware you had anything to do with this event,” Arthur said, business-like. “Er, I don’t actually, but I heard the commotion,” Cho said, glancing once again at Marietta. “Very well, then. Why don’t you get back to your own work, shall we?” he asked, smiling tightly. Cho nodded hastily, practically fleeing from the area. “Now, I’d suggest we take care of any pressing needs without continued shouting on the floor. I think it would be best, in future, to arrange an appointment to discuss any further details,” Arthur said, looking at the remaining three in disapproval. “Yes, sir.” “Yes, Arthur.” “Yes, Dad,” Marietta, Gladys, and Ginny said together. No one could ever make her feel so small without raising their voice by any measure the way her father could, and Ginny felt properly abashed. She wasn’t at all surprised that the other women felt it, too. “Very good,” Arthur said briskly. “Now, what absolutely cannot wait?” “One thing, whilst we have you here,” Gladys said swiftly. “You mentioned there would be a photograph of the actual wedding provided. Might I have the name of the photographer so I can give the specifications needed?” Ginny paused, her instincts screaming that it wasn’t a good idea to let the name of the photographer granted access to the wedding become publicly known. “Oh, there’s no need. I can take care of that as I’ll be attending both parties. Is there anything else?” Arthur asked, apparently understanding Ginny’s hesitation. Gladys pressed her lips together very tightly. “Very well,” she said. “I do hope we can plan this event without further misunderstandings. As your betrothed works for the Ministry, and the Quidditch League falls under the Department of Magical Games and Sports, I’m certain you want what’s best for all involved.” “Oh, and how many other Aurors’ or Quidditch players’ weddings have you meddled in?” Ginny asked tartly. “All right, I think that’s as far as we can hope to get today,” Arthur said, a hint of impatience in his voice. “Ginny, can I walk you to the lift?” Ginny knew a dismissal when she heard one. She quietly walked with her father towards the lift, shoulders slumped. “Ginny,” her dad said quietly once they were well away from Marietta’s desk, “I understand how upsetting this has all been for you and Harry, and believe me, I intend to have words with Gladys about it. However, I do expect you to conduct yourself appropriately at the Ministry. This is not only where Harry works, it’s where I work, and I need to respect my employees if I want them to respect me.” “Sorry, Dad,” she said glumly. “I’m just so tired of rowing with them. Is it really so much to ask that the most personal experience of our lives be witnessed only by those we feel closest to?” Arthur smiled, wrapping his arm around her despite her grubby practice gear. “Ah, but here’s the thing, love. Being celebrities makes a lot more people feel they are closer to you than they actually are. Try not to let it trouble you. When the day arrives, everyone there will be wishing nothing but the best for the both of you.” Ginny blinked sudden moisture from her eyes. “I love you, Dad.” “Love you, too, my firecracker,” Arthur said tenderly. |
| Reviews 210 |
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