HP/LOTM: Visionary - 407

Chapter 407: Ministry Infiltration (Entry)

Hermione rifled through the witch’s identification and learned her name was Mafalda. She took out his identification coin and tucked it away.

No sooner had she done so than a second victim appeared.

"Morning, Mafalda," said a wizard whose pinched face and sagging shoulders looked crushed by life itself.

"Morning… actually, I’ve got something to perk you up. Want to try it?" Hermione said, pulling out a Vomiting Pastille from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

"Just what I need. My wife…" Reg swallowed the sweet whole. Halfway through his sentence, both cheeks bulged.

He bolted into the side alley. "Uuurgh—"

"Oh dear, you might be ill. Best get yourself to St Mungo’s. Your vomit looks a bit… off," Hermione said, patting his shoulder.

Grumbling, Reg shuffled away. Hermione took the chance to pluck a hair from his head. Ron dropped it into the Polyjuice Potion and downed it, his features twisting into Reg Cattermole’s.

Unfortunately, a third wizard arrived just in time to see the end of the transformation. He drew his wand to shout and stun them, only for an invisible hand to whip his hair free. Harry, under the Invisibility Cloak, followed it up with a very non-magical Stupefy: a punch that laid the man out cold.

"Cool," said Ron-turned-Reg in his normal voice, then coughed and corrected himself. "Er—cool."

There was no time for Harry to banter. He yanked out the wizard’s hair, gulped another dose of Polyjuice, and took on the man’s face.

Ready at last, the three headed for the new Ministry entrance: a public lavatory in the Parliament building.

Hermione dropped Mafalda’s coin into the slot and led them into the cubicle. The sound of flushing roared in their ears, and the world spun as they were sucked down into the Ministry.

Stepping out of the grate, Harry immediately felt every eye in the Atrium flinch away and then sneak back, full of fear, to glance at him. Before he could wonder why, a squad of black-uniformed Snatchers escorting a group of Muggle-borns marched past and hailed him.

"Hey, Albert. Nice work with Cresswell," one of them said, giving a wave before hauling his prisoners away.

"Oh, Merlin. I know who you are. You’re that mad dog everyone’s talking about, Albert Runcorn," Hermione-as-Mafalda whispered.

"Keep it down. You’ll blow our cover," Ron muttered.

They reached the fountain. Two years ago, this had held statues of a wizard, a witch, and magical creatures. Now, a single wizard sat on a throne carved from the naked bodies of countless humans.

The message was clear enough: wizards rule over Muggles. On the wizard’s chest, a slogan had been engraved: "Magic Is Might."

They headed for the lift. The moment Harry stepped inside, everyone else bolted out. Better to wait for the next one than ride with him.

Just as the doors were about to close, a large hand wedged itself into the gap and forced them open.

"Well, Runcorn. Afternoon," said Yaxley, Death Eater and newly minted Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Good afternoon, sir," Harry replied, while silently cursing the man’s entire bloodline.

"Reg Cattermole, my office has been raining for two days straight!" Yaxley snapped, rounding on Ron.

"Er… have you tried an umbrella?" Ron-as-Reg said, his false moustache twitching.

Yaxley did not seem to notice anything amiss. He narrowed his eyes, then gave a slow smile. "You’ve gathered I’m headed down, haven’t you, Cattermole?"

"Down?" Ron had no idea what he was talking about. His hand drifted nervously to his wand.

"To interrogate your wife. And now, if I were about to question a man’s wife and ask him for a small favour, I would expect him to be very eager to oblige, wouldn’t you?" Yaxley leaned in, the threat clear in his voice, looming over Ron.

"You have one hour," he said, letting go as the doors slid shut. He clearly had no desire to share an elevator with the Ministry’s new attack dog.

The lift stopped on Level Two.

"Go, Ron," Harry urged.

"What do I do, I—" Ron’s panic showed plainly.

"Try Finite. Or Aiden’s Silence Injunction," Hermione said quickly.

Ron stumbled out, nerves jangling. Fortunately, the way his hands shook and his mind drifted suited the part of a man whose wife was awaiting trial. No one questioned his dazed look or absent steps.

The lift rattled back into motion.

"If we don’t find it in an hour, we'll go meet back up with Ron and try again in a few days," Harry said.

"All right," Hermione agreed.

With a clunk, the lift stopped. The witch they wanted appeared as if she had been summoned.

Umbridge swept in, flicking her hair back. When she saw Mafalda’s dry, split ends, a wave of smug satisfaction flooded her. She had deliberately chosen this plain, grey little witch who could not do her own makeup as her assistant, just to set off her own supposed refinement.

"Oh, Mafalda, Travers sent you? Wonderful. We have ten accused Muggle-borns to process today. We’ll have to hurry," Umbridge said as she stepped into the lift.

She glanced at Harry standing there, still as a statue. "Albert, aren’t you getting out?"

Harry had to step aside and watch Hermione vanish toward the lower levels. He had no time to fret over her. Trouble was already walking straight toward him.

"Albert, what brings you here?" asked Pius Thicknesse, the new Minister for Magic.

"Looking for…" Harry hesitated for less than a heartbeat, then continued smoothly, "Arthur Weasley. I was told he was on this floor."

"Ah," Pius said, pleased, drawing out the sound. "Someone saw him talking to the wrong sort, did they?"

"No, sir. Just an investigation. Can’t make things up out of thin air, can we? They are Weasleys, after all…" Harry said quickly, covering for Arthur.

"Quite." Thicknesse pursed his lips, disappointed. "Well, off you go then. Best of luck."

Once he’d ditched the Minister, Harry finally had the chance to slip under the Invisibility Cloak and scout.

Feeling his way through the corridors, he reached the door of the Minister’s office. The area had been turned into a large outer hall, crammed with thirty or so witches busily printing pamphlets.

Since Bellatrix had taken over the Daily Prophet, all printing had been moved inside the Ministry to prevent the Order from attacking the presses and distributing seditious leaflets.

Tom herself was an expert at this sort of thing. The pamphlets currently rolling off the presses were titled, "The Mudblood Threat to Our Peaceful Pure-Blood Society."

The witches clearly held their work in contempt. They whispered among themselves.

"Mudbloods. As if she didn’t have Muggle blood herself," a young witch snorted.

An older witch flicked her wand and sealed the younger one’s mouth. "Do you have a death wish? What if someone hears you?"

"What, she’s got a magic eye, and now she’s grown a pair of magic ears too?" the younger witch muttered, glancing nervously at the gleaming mahogany door.

Harry followed her gaze. A cold fury and killing chill surged up from his gut.

Set into the centre of that polished door, where a peephole ought to be, was a single large, round eye. Its bright blue iris was all too familiar to anyone who had ever known Alastor Moody.