"Unification" (Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Amelia Bones, Gawain Robards, Rufus Scrimgeour)
Author: Anonymous
Prompt/Prompt Author: They all worked for the same goal- stopping Voldemort. Sometimes they worked together to do it, sometimes they didn't. / nevrafire
Title: Unification
Characters: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Amelia Bones, Gawain Robards, Rufus Scrimgeour
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Word Count: 5800
Summary: In times of threat, strength arises from unity, weakness from division. For members of the Ministry of Magic and the Order of the Phoenix, during the turmoil of both wars, such a fact is easy to remember, forget, or misinterpret.
Author's Notes: For those of you not on Pottermore, so you do not wrongfully attribute creativity, some snippets of Minerva's backstory are taken from the bio there--I merely embellished. The Moody awesomeness is blatantly stolen from blamebrampton's Of Great Price which you should read if you haven't already. Immense thanks and gratitude to my beta, 'X' for editing, quelling my novice fest fears during the writing process, and putting up with my time-eating babble. Thanks to our lovely mods, and my equally lovely prompter, for this opportunity, which, hopefully, will be as enjoyable to read as it was to write.
MINERVA
1956
A place in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office had been a way to do some good in the world that would affect both the Muggle and Wizarding communities.
After all, she could not only protect Muggles, but fellow innocent/inexperienced wizards as well, as Muggle-baiting had a tendency to backfire and harm other wizards if it wasn't stopped at the source. And as far as her direct co-workers went (eight members of the office counting her boss, Elphinstone Urquart, and not counting herself) people shared her sentiment.
It had been after she'd come back from setting right a coat rack made up of bronze dragons (transfigured to make them alive so they'd burn or devour the coat, its Muggle owner, or both when touched) that Minerva had registered how anti-Muggle the rest of her workplace was. She'd Apparated back into the atrium with torn robes, a series of burns up her left arm, and a profound gratitude for the Memory Charm that had removed the terror from the woman's face, along with a mingled sense of accomplishment and relief that the dragons were purely ornamental once more. She'd gotten used to hearing the word Muggle spoken with distaste or disdain, but from the moment she returned from her triumph, rumours were flying about attacks in Muggle areas, ranging from scare tactics to a more fierce sense of fun. Baiting with a tinge of bullying. The relaying of however many incidents there were produced smirks and sniggers rather than concern or fear throughout the afternoon. It had infuriated and saddened Minerva, and that had been two months into her career.
When the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol had waved away her information on the culprits with a, "we'll see to it; wizards first of course, but it'll be done", she'd begun to feel like a Crup chasing its tail, occasionally getting hit with the spike for her time. When such answers became habitual, Minerva found herself growing more and more disconsolate. The thoughtless cruelty was overwhelming to someone who read the Muggle newspapers in order to stay connected to half of her parentage. So hours earlier, when Urquart had called her into his office to proudly inform her that after only two years, she was being promoted, her answer had come without a moment's hesitation.
"You turned down a position in the Improper Use of Magic Office?" Amelia demanded. Minerva winced slightly as several heads turned in their direction;
Amelia's booming voice could easily carry across the Quidditch pitch of a World Cup match, let alone the crowded Ministry canteen.
"Keep your voice down," she hissed. Amelia gave her a look that clearly said she wanted her question answered. Now. "It came as somewhat of a surprise to me as well, but yes."
"You do know that it's the second-most elite division in our department after the Aurors!"
"As people have been saying as much for over a decade, I had managed to glean that bit of information."
"So you'll stay on in Misuse of Muggle Artifacts? Well-"
"No. I've been offered a teaching post in the Transfiguration department at Hogwarts, starting in December."
Amelia eyed her, thick brows raised. She seemed to be choosing her words carefully, which was rather worrying, but Minerva returned the stare beadily.
She was infrequent friends with the eldest of the Bones family, seeking her out when their ambitions and timetables permitted. She liked Amelia for her similar dedication, cast-iron moral sense, desire for making herself heard, and formidable outlook, and preferred not to part on bad terms. But if it came down to a sometimes-friendship or defending the principles some saw as naiveté...
"The bigots have gotten to you, haven't they," she said finally. Her tone was sorrowful, yet the elder witch did not appear to hold her accountable. Could good terms be an understatement? Minerva found herself hoping so.
"I expected more open-mindedness from our justice system, particularly with this group running around."
"They seem to be making quite a name for themselves in the Dark community. I heard a rumour the leader's adopted Lord as a title."
"How humble," said Minerva, sipping her Gillywater and setting down the glass rather harder than necessary. "Well you'll let me know when his lordship and his envoys have been caught, won't you?"
"Of course. You'll let me know if you hear anything unusual up at the school."
Minerva was skeptical. "Do you really believe it will come to that?"
"No, but it would at least get you to send owls."
She said nothing, but gave a small smile. Apparently infrequent was not synonymous with unimportant; Minerva rarely made wrong assumptions; she was pleased to have done so in this instance.
"If you wanted to stay at the Ministry," Amelia said, holding up a hand before Minerva could register a protest, jaw set in a way she knew meant Amelia intended to say her piece. "The Aurors aren't nearly as prejudiced you know, and your talents would be invaluable in reconnaissance."
"I WILL NOT use my Animagus form for spying, and I'm surprised you decided to pass on disreputable habits."
"There is nothing ignoble about reconnaissance if it helps innocent lives," Amelia rejoined.
"And it's easy to believe and quote various laws when you sit behind a desk all day." In an Auror's world view, the only viable reason to become an Animagus was for covert activities; there was no room for someone like Minerva, who'd simply wanted to know if she could master every field of Transfiguration.
Aside from that, there were the old concerns about her competitiveness possibly interfering with her work. It had been what had stopped her from attempting
the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol two years previously, and as the Aurors always proved you never became "elite" without demonstrating your competitive nature, Hogwarts was the best place for her.
"Nevertheless," Amelia plowed on before the silence stretched too long, "I think you'd make a brilliant Auror, and that way you'd get to have a hand in stopping this Wizards first mentality."
"Thank you, but I thought Aurors weren't supposed to be emotionally invested in their assignments."
Amelia nodded. "It's difficult picturing you as a professor, not impossible, but difficult. You might try and impress upon your students how foolish it is to break the law and promote yourself as Wizarding royalty."
"If what everyone's saying is true, and the man is really that arrogant, the Ministry should have the people responsible for the attacks in custody in no time."
Amelia smiled, raising her goblet of pumpkin juice in a toast. "Undoubtedly. To successful endeavours."
In later years, Minerva would find the remembered clink of their glasses rang with mockery.
*****
MINERVA
1979
"But surely they were wearing Muggle clothes?" she managed weakly through her disbelief, praying one aspect of common sense had penetrated the boys' skulls.
"In a manner of speaking." Albus's mouth twitched. "I never envisioned Fawkes as a literal mascot, but their T-shirts certainly seem to have done him proud."
Minerva gazed at the starry sky, her own amusement dampened by the circumstances. You were not supposed to still be receiving reports of your students' escapades after they left school, even if they were fellow combatants in a war. Granted, she had never believed for a moment that Potter and Black (or any of her former charges who'd become fighters) wouldn't cause a stir wherever they went, but they were at least, in the name of Heaven, supposed to have enough care not to use a flying motorbike for a stealth assignment!
"I suppose I can't have expected any less," she said finally, returning her gaze to the man walking beside her. "It fits their little gang's attitudes so far. James Potter somehow Stunning those Werewolves without getting bitten last month, Remus Lupin rescuing that child from that house practically collapsing from Fiendfyre, Sirius Black taking on that giant-"
"And you must admit, managing quite well even with two broken ribs and a cracked skull to add to his collection of battle wounds." He glanced toward the Quidditch pitch, as if only now registering it on their circuit of the grounds. "If memory serves, you achieved greater injuries during matches."
"You cannot repair a person's life," Minerva snapped, refusing to soften even as the bright blue eyes twinkled with gentle humour.
"They're young." His eyes had grown serious in the moment's pause, their light diminished. "If any of them begin showing as much sense as we do beyond that obtained through maturity, then Voldemort"--as usual he ignored her flinch--"will have become even more powerful."
"I know that, but that doesn't mean I'm not tempted to punish them! Sometimes they might as well not have left school for all the difference in their maturation."
"To you, Minerva, they will always be the spirited boys who bewitched the twelve Christmas trees in the Great Hall to tap-dance in the wake of Mr. Filch."
She knew what he meant; teachers never forgot how a students' career began, and to a degree such an impression never faded. Wryly, she thought it best not to ask which memory served as the foundation for his opinion of her. Nevertheless, if that lot were a few years older and wiser, she would feel less uneasy about them risking their lives.
"I suppose they are putting their troublemaking to good use if Death Eaters are suffering. And Lord knows there's enough going on at the moment without arranging detentions."
"A silver lining. Speaking of which, Frank Longbottom got a message to me about the Inferi sightings. I was worried he wouldn't find time with the state of things at the Ministry." He had spoken more quietly and seriously than the news warranted (Merlin knew Inferi sightings were becoming almost common these days), and her voice sharpened at the prospect of bad news on the heels of good.
"What is it now? Aside from this latest batch of disappearances outnumbering any arrests the Ministry's made."
"They have not made any arrests for several months now. Logically and legally no one investigates solely on guesswork, and according to Alastor, that's all the Aurors have these days, with the limitations imposed by only Voldemort knowing the identities behind Death Eater masks." He sighed. "Bureaucracy is working quite spectacularly against them."
Now Minerva frowned in puzzlement. She knew this; one of the reasons she had joined the Order was the fact that, unhindered by the limitations of paperwork and one's rank in a department, it could go where the Ministry could not. At its most basic, the Order could tail those who were overly suspicious, but on whom no one could lay genuine proof, and act accordingly if need be.
"Is there someone we need to watch?" she asked, after making sure the grounds still remained deserted. "I'm marking essays this weekend, but that can always be left-" She let the words trail off, sudden understanding destroying the frail hope (or frankly wish) that this latest problem could be easily solved.
"Can they do anything?"
He looked sorrowful.
"Naturally the Aurors will attend to certain matters: killing giants, combating Werewolves and Inferi. And apart from the disappearances, Muggles should remain unaware of our existence. Otherwise the Ministry is in complete disarray. The Prophet should even be getting wind of it soon."
She believed him, but felt as if the ground had been cut out from under her. While the Ministry of Magic had long ago lost any appeal, Minerva could never say it failed in its purpose of general protection, or that she had ever imagined a time when it would falter before a threat. It was true that lately the Order had been having more success, Black and Potter being an immediate example, but it was hard to conceive of the implacable Ministry--secure since the sixteen hundreds, occasionally draconian--bowing under the pressure of, terrifying as he was, a murderer and his sycophants.
"Do you mean that───Albus───will he-"
"No," he assured, "Voldemort cannot possibly obtain control of the Ministry as long as Millicent Bagnold and Barty Crouch hold their current posts."
"And you continue to give everyone advice," she added, fondly exasperated at his modesty. "Really Dumbledore, they're going to offer you the Minister's job again when Bagnold retires."
"It would be the height of rudeness for me to accept the offer; they would have to issue new Chocolate Frog cards." As usual his levity sobered her, and the enormity of being the only ones resisting You-Know-Who threatened to break her composure.
"It's really just us? Not that we've ever relied on the Ministry, but I won't pretend being allied in general wasn't a comfort."
"No one will balk at an opportunity to fight if it arises, but the Order of the Phoenix is the only fully functioning anti-Voldemort movement."
"And how many members do you think we'll still have when you tell them that?" Now it was his turn to survey the area in contemplation, but to her surprise, Dumbledore's ruminations produced a smile.
"A great deal. Do you know, people seem to find remarkable strength always when we least expect it."
*****
AMELIA
Mid-August 1981
As a senior official, she felt compelled to boost people's spirits during her free-time, assuming such was possible. As most were going into hysterics about the ever-increasing amount of homes with the Dark Mark above their roofs, fearing theirs would be next, or terrified that Greyback would come for their families, Amelia found a perverse sort of relief in spending time with the Aurors. Not that they were immune to fear, but most were so determined to turn the tide that it was buried to be examined in private. She spent more time conveying logic to overactive imaginations/adrenaline than uttering platitudes workers had heard or said themselves a hundred times before, and only now chose to find comfort in. Since no one knew what would happen from one day to the next, which oftentimes meant no platitude was comfort enough, the switch from assisting civilians to soldiers was a welcome distraction.
"It's ridiculous!" Rufus Scrimgeour's anger was palpable as she pushed through the doors to the Auror cubicles. Gawain Robards, a lower-ranking Auror, stood beside him looking equally disgruntled, but otherwise the area had been deserted for lunch.
"What's ridiculous?"
"Afternoon, Madam Bones," said Robards, not so irate that he would forget a friendly greeting.
Scrimgeour, it seemed, had crossed the borderline between emotion and manners, as he fixed his yellow eyes on her and snarled, "The whole department is talking about how Moody arrested eight Death Eaters and killed two more a week ago. It was chance any of them were in the same place as those Inferi we were after, and then Moody handles all of them when he wasn't even called for backup! We should at least be equal to a disloyal member of the office!"
Amelia frowned. She'd always thought of Scrimgeour as an Alastor Moody in the making, without the troubling paranoia; tough, a survivor, rough around the edges; to find his wand in a knot over someone whose best qualities it would behoove him to emulate was disheartening, but it was the last phrase that unsettled her.
"I fail to see how you find him disloyal, or the felling of so many Death Eaters problematic."
"The vigilantes were a part of this as well, and he's more than likely one of them with how close he and Dumbledore are. Though Moody claims he was merely on his rounds when the skirmish broke out."
"Innocent until proven guilty. And why is that implausible?"
"It isn't, but we'll never know which organisation he was giving credit to," Robards explained.
"Credit?! Having fewer Death Eaters in the world is far more important than the Aurors not being able to swagger when someone mentions an arrest!"
Both men had the grace to look mildly sheepish, but only just. She'd interacted with enough of them to know Aurors were the living embodiment of the saying "pride goeth before the fall", but had presumed it had some limits. Amelia supposed she would feel differently if a renegade group took the making of laws into their own hands, but at the moment her eyes were narrowed in incredulity.
As if to prove the persistence of his individual pride, Scrimgeour changed tack, brushing aside her statement's validity. "The public are frightened enough without it looking as though the Aurors can't do their job. And if public morale is low, the Death Eaters will feel confident. They cannot be allowed to think we're weakening!"
Robards shook his head sympathetically. She began to see, distantly, what this was about now. Most of the arrests had involved more time flying over the North Sea than dueling. But telling either of them that they would soon have legal grounds for tracking and arresting someone without Order intervention would rub salt in open wounds. They would regroup and succeed unaided soon enough.
"Nor does it help that while Moody helped us bring the lot in, the vigilantes that were there went off and rounded up a good seven more. Not individually of course, b-"
"They have no business interfering with Auror work!" the senior wizard concluded.
They were quite the pair, standing almost shoulder to shoulder, braced for battle, united in the belief that the Auror office could handle something none had seen the likes of without aid. A month ago it would have engendered pride; but a month ago she'd had two little brothers.
"Are the Order of the Phoenix bringing people to Azkaban now?" she asked pointedly, clarifying when both men looked blank: "An Auror's work is capturing Dark Wizards, and I can't imagine why anyone would go to that prison of their own volition when it was unnecessary."
"What does it matter if they leave the actual transport to us," Scrimgeour answered coldly. "It is our job to stop He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers, not a bunch of ragtag civilians rallying behind a school Headmaster! Even with his brilliance, what would Dumbledore possibly know about combat?"
"He did win a duel against Grindelwald; that would suggest he knows a great deal," Amelia pointed out.
Scrimgeour nodded, all but bristling, and she stifled a sigh. It was as much character and actions as titles and their perceived weight that earned people respect and loyalty. Someday he would see that.
"Regardless of Dumbledore's fighting prowess"--he unclenched his jaw--"some of these Order of the Phoenix people can't be more than nineteen; it's not up to them to sort this out. They're breaking the law."
"Not in principle," Robards interjected, ever the logical Ravenclaw. All they needed was a former member of Slytherin House to make their conversations truly divided. "There's nothing against British citizens defending themselves, and if this Order were simply a freelance form of protective skills that might be a different matter altogether. Provided it was sanctioned by the Ministry."
"But that isn't the case," Scrimgeour snapped, "and what they're doing is illegal."
"And according to the more prominent illegal group, it's justifiable to kill Muggle-borns and Muggles. I think we can forgo the lesser of two evils, Rufus."
Amelia was rather gratified to see that both men's expressions had shifted from reproving to bewildered, eyes fastened on her as though she'd had a run in with something from Experimental Charms and come off like Gilbert Wimple.
"You-you think they've got the right of it." Robards sounded as though he were trying not to startle an animal he had believed tame.
She shook her head. It was becoming clearer to her that Dumbledore had realised probably long before the rest of them (they'd been working under the assumption that these people were a minor threat for an embarrassing length of time), that the Ministry could not be expected to devote itself entirely to He-Who-Must-Not-be-Named.
When those departments that were involved stopped to handle the day to day matters of governing, the Order of the Phoenix would attempt to cover the gaps.
Amelia could not find it objectionable. It wasn't lawful, but it was unreasonable to say only those with Ministerial training could defend the innocent, with panic and confusion as perpetual a climate as the sweltering temperatures.
Edgar and his family's death had taught her that. And while she would never impugn the Ministry, the love and loyalty she felt for her family culminated in resentment that none of them had been given a decent farewell. A burial, certainly, and recognition of how they had died, but not why. There was no discussion of Edgar's battle prowess despite how much of it the Ministry had seen; no acknowledgement of the heroism she was sure had made him a target. The fact that such unfairness would never have occurred, if not for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, had simply hardened her resolve that the monsters tearing their world apart be stopped. By anyone who could manage it. Yet because explaining this would get her nowhere--it had taken the near obliteration of her family for such a conclusion, and that was without the Auror biases which bonded her colleagues--Amelia summarized, "I think they're being useful. Neither of us are doing as well as we would like, but Order of the Phoenix members have shown they're as competent as the Ministry. The Obliviators haven't been putting in overtime on their account after all."
"That's true enough," Robards admitted grudgingly, "But if Dumbledore wanted to be of use he would dissolve the group and relay any information or suspicions to the Ministry. If he had done that sooner lives could───" He broke off, looking horrorstruck as his eyes filled with comprehension. Not wanting to see the pity that would follow, Amelia turned back toward the oak doors.
"We should get lunch before we're working on empty stomachs."
"They're dying when there's no cause for it," Scrimgeour said abruptly, "no amount of usefulness can mitigate that."
"Perfectly true," she agreed, wrenching open a door, "that's why I look forward to the day He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is killed. Blaming Dumbledore or Edgar would be easier, but that would be putting personal opinion above fact."
*****
AMELIA
June 1996
She entered the ward on the fourth floor of St. Mungo's Hospital to find that all the beds were empty accept for the one in which Minerva sat, frowning at the partially-eaten bowl of porridge on her lap.
"Is it as awful as I remember?"
Minerva lifted a spoonful to her mouth, grimaced, swallowed, then grimaced again. "Yes."
Amelia hid a chuckle behind her hand.
"Do you know when they're going to discharge you?"
"Tomorrow, unless something comes up."
"Glad to hear it. You look well." She Conjured a chair, directing it to land by Minerva's bedside.
"You look tired."
"Long day at the Ministry, and I'll need to be getting back soon. You heard what happened, I suppose."
"Albus told me. A second war with He-WHO-Must-Not-BE-Named that we can all acknowledge, unlike this time last year."
"Yes, the Prophet should be releasing an article with all the details tomorrow. We can't have another war like the last one."
"Don't you mean none of us can afford another year like this past one?" Minerva asked.
Amelia nodded.
"The Ministry's staying clear of Hogwarts, but you're right. Everything that has happened could have been avoided if we were actively working with the Order. The Azkaban break-out, this row between Arthur Weasley and his son"--she failed to keep her voice light as intended, but felt better regarding her lack of emotional control when Minerva's mouth thinned--"and Harry Potter would never have had that sort of hearing."
"Did you have any luck with your investigation?" asked Minerva eagerly. Dumbledore had made a comment at the boy's hearing about the Ministry making an inquiry into the Dementors actions on the second of August, glancing at Amelia as he'd done so. Amelia had been acting in Dumbledore's capacity, both due to him being the witness for the defense and to her being the only unbiased interrogator, and whether he'd intended her to act or not, discovering the motivation behind the incident had filled many moments otherwise used for leisure.
"The Dementors had authorization. Dolores Umbridge will have a great deal to answer for once things settle down."
A predatory smile curved Minerva's mouth, and Amelia had to bite back one of her own at the visceral image of a purring cat in her friend's place.
"You do realise Fudge will never agree to that," Minerva sighed bitterly, "he might have regained his common sense, but he is inordinately fond of that woman."
"We both know the Wizarding community won't view him as competent for much longer, and Fudge is rather-"
"A slave to blood purity and public opinion!"
"If he weren't, there's a chance several deaths could have been prevented." She peered out the small window, knowing Minerva would speak when she'd collected herself. She had--or rather had had--a fondness for young Mr. Black, though one had to parse the words with a fine toothed comb to find affection beneath the brusqueness. And he'd been innocent, apparently, because the Ministry burying its head in the sand couldn't be the only consequence of a year's debacle.
That had been one of the many factors that had brought her here. One of several facts that made it clear no one could take up the same positions they had all those years ago. Part of the reason they had barely survived the last war was because Minister Bagnold and Barty Crouch had worked as opposites, her rational logic balancing his willingness to act in moral grey areas. No matter what post they filled, the Ministry required both types of people, yet currently stood at a disadvantage with no one to fill Crouch's role. Perhaps by allying with Dumbledore--
"Everyone knows you would make a fine Minister for Magic," said Minerva abruptly, voice steady.
"I don't like counting my owls before they're delivered."
"Only because you're too humble," Minerva reproached. "Logically you would be the best for the post, and you can't tell me you haven't considered it."
"For the sake of argument let's say you're right. I want us working together properly. Not just Obliviators turning up after your lot have been fighting, or our Aurors having undisclosed sources on whereabouts of subdued Death Eaters that I turn a blind eye to. We can at least hold He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named up if we're not divided."
"I should think the Aurors will object to working alongside civilians, or people they think should be arrested." said Minerva irritably. "They never took kindly to us fighting Death Eaters, and that was when we did everything short of imprisoning them."
"Unless they wish to resign and deliberately leave us with fewer fighters for the sake of their pride, objections can be dealt with. Though the only person I think will make them will be Rufus Scrimgeour. Leaving would make him something of a hypocrite, though. He's a soldier first and foremost. He couldn't stay out of battle forever, and Robards should be able to make him understand the importance of co-operation."
"That's all very well and good, as long as Robards doesn't get swept along in Scrimgeour's temper. You can't afford to have the Head and Deputy Head of the Aurors resigning any more than merely the Head."
"Robards is like you in his practicality. I've been their superior and advisor for years, and with Dumbledore's knack for getting to the heart of a situation, there should only be a few token complaints before Rufus calms down."
Minerva discarded the remains of her porridge with a careless wave of her wand before saying, "There might be some information Albus is not willing to share. He isn't the sort to keep all his secrets in one basket."
"That's quite all right," she lied. "No"--she searched for words--"general, should. We share what will benefit us collectively. Information that pertains to individual fighters or spies will go where it's most useful. As long as we work together in general matters."
She wasn't offended by the idea of Dumbledore not being completely under her control. Absolute power was said to corrupt absolutely after all. Not to mention there were Ministry secrets Dumbledore hadn't a right to, and if he were allowed to keep his she could be permitted to do likewise.
"Now that I think about it, that should prove beneficial. If He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attacks either of us, quite a few of either the Ministry's or the Order's plans will be safe."
"I see." Green eyes met navy blue in a moment of grim understanding. Fear was present in the look too, for what and who would be lost this time. Conquering this threat would test them, again. Their courage, their intelligence, their skill, their favouritism with fate. However, they were more experienced than before, one of their faction had not been idle for a year (or longer, she wouldn't put anything past Dumbledore at present), and everyone involved was or would soon be willing to pull together to effectively ensure the well-being of Britain's people.
"Hurry up!" screeched Amelia's watch from inside the pocket of her robes. She pulled it out, glanced at it, and stood with an apologetic look.
"You must be cutting it fine," Minerva surmised, before she could provide an explanation. "Right then, I will inform Albus when I return. With term ending and the Minister's successor being chosen any day now, the three of us and Rufus Scrimgeour should be able to properly discuss things sometime in mid-July."
"That would be an accurate assessment," Amelia agreed, Vanishing the chair. She felt as though they had accomplished a great deal despite the brevity of their conversation. This time, things would be altered for the better. "I'll see the both of you soon."
*****
MINERVA
May 2, 1998
He caught her attention because he was doing the same thing she was: searching the Great Hall for the bereaved or injured. However, unlike her, he was suffering from apparent indecision, hovering by the table the house-elves had laden with drinks. Feeling her gaze, he inclined his head, and Minerva chose to read it as an invitation.
"Robards, isn't it? Gawain Robards?"
"Yes, Professor."
"No one's going to begrudge you a bit of comfort, you know," she said, nodding at the table. He took a bottle of Butterbeer with a self-deprecating twistof his mouth.
"It's difficult to remember I don't have to set an example for people."
"That's right, you were Head of the Auror Office before you went into hiding." He blinked.
"Is omniscience a requirement of Hogwarts Headmasters and Mistresses?"
"No. Robards isn't a Wizarding name, and you've been absent from the Prophet for the past nine months. The Head Auror would be involved even in arrests in a Ministry under He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's leadership, but your name vanished just before the article on the Muggle-born Registration Commission came out." He cast her an appreciative smile.
"Well reasoned. I've been using The Quibbler to keep up with what's been going on when I couldn't get in touch with Kingsley." Minerva felt her brows lift a fraction. She had never thought Kingsley and Robards were close, but was hardly one to judge friendships, or circumstantial alliances for that matter. Kingsley was one of the few people in a good enough position to provide information about everyone.
"What made him decide to inform you about tonight? Have you expressed interest in direct combat?" Minerva asked.
He shook his head, permitting himself a long draft from the bottle before responding.
"I happened to use my two-way mirror, wanting to know if the rumours about the Gringotts break in were true, and I suspect Kingsley thought that if I agreed to come, there'd be one more wand against them. But that's not the entirety of what you want to know, is it?"
"No. I understand why Potter came back here, but it isn't as though every Muggle-born has come out of the woodwork to fight. I rather wonder about your motivation."
"Some would say that's none of your concern," he said mildly.
"I once sat on a brick wall all day to find out whether a rumour was true, if that gives you any idea of my persistence, and if you were opposed to this conversation you could have walked away by now."
"And there is that saying about cats," he countered good-naturedly.
Annoyance and dulled grief pricked her. No other Animagus form was the source of such teasing, and in a certain mood Albus would have made a similar remark.
"Would you care to assuage my curiosity, Gawain? Particularly as both of us could die of something far more painful."
"It was the right thing to do. No more people should die because the Dark Lord thinks it's his birthright to rule the world." Traces of hardened grief filled his eyes and the ravaged lines of his face.
She didn't know him well enough to say he'd changed for the better, but the war had done some reshaping. The last time she'd seen him had been at Dumbledore's funeral, one of many in the Ministry's congregation of "mourners" who'd done nothing of consequence. Not that Robards was entirely at fault; Scrimgeour hadn't even bothered making a speech. When he'd sat through the eulogy only to run after Harry the moment it concluded, leaving Gawain and the rest to mill about awkwardly, she'd known that working together was impossible. Albus and Amelia had been the only people who could have made some progress, and too many personal feelings--including her own--had been in the way to manage it. Now, however, a member of the formerly corrupt, as opposed to the currently deplorable, Ministry of Magic had been fighting alongside them for the last few hours in spite of the past. If that meant what she hoped it did, no matter who or how many of them survived tonight...
Reaching for a goblet of pumpkin juice, she took a fortifying swig before asking, "And if we defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, will you regret throwing in your lot with vigilantes?"
"Surely you realise what a difficult question that is to answer, Minerva" he replied, eyes flitting around the Hall as though to emphasize the point before settling on her again, "with nothing to distinguish either faction."
She smiled, and on an impulse borne of pleasure and relief, lifted her goblet. "To a united victory."
He raised his bottle, and to Minerva, the clink of glasses rang clear and bright.
Prompt/Prompt Author: They all worked for the same goal- stopping Voldemort. Sometimes they worked together to do it, sometimes they didn't. / nevrafire
Title: Unification
Characters: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Amelia Bones, Gawain Robards, Rufus Scrimgeour
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Word Count: 5800
Summary: In times of threat, strength arises from unity, weakness from division. For members of the Ministry of Magic and the Order of the Phoenix, during the turmoil of both wars, such a fact is easy to remember, forget, or misinterpret.
Author's Notes: For those of you not on Pottermore, so you do not wrongfully attribute creativity, some snippets of Minerva's backstory are taken from the bio there--I merely embellished. The Moody awesomeness is blatantly stolen from blamebrampton's Of Great Price which you should read if you haven't already. Immense thanks and gratitude to my beta, 'X' for editing, quelling my novice fest fears during the writing process, and putting up with my time-eating babble. Thanks to our lovely mods, and my equally lovely prompter, for this opportunity, which, hopefully, will be as enjoyable to read as it was to write.
MINERVA
1956
A place in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office had been a way to do some good in the world that would affect both the Muggle and Wizarding communities.
After all, she could not only protect Muggles, but fellow innocent/inexperienced wizards as well, as Muggle-baiting had a tendency to backfire and harm other wizards if it wasn't stopped at the source. And as far as her direct co-workers went (eight members of the office counting her boss, Elphinstone Urquart, and not counting herself) people shared her sentiment.
It had been after she'd come back from setting right a coat rack made up of bronze dragons (transfigured to make them alive so they'd burn or devour the coat, its Muggle owner, or both when touched) that Minerva had registered how anti-Muggle the rest of her workplace was. She'd Apparated back into the atrium with torn robes, a series of burns up her left arm, and a profound gratitude for the Memory Charm that had removed the terror from the woman's face, along with a mingled sense of accomplishment and relief that the dragons were purely ornamental once more. She'd gotten used to hearing the word Muggle spoken with distaste or disdain, but from the moment she returned from her triumph, rumours were flying about attacks in Muggle areas, ranging from scare tactics to a more fierce sense of fun. Baiting with a tinge of bullying. The relaying of however many incidents there were produced smirks and sniggers rather than concern or fear throughout the afternoon. It had infuriated and saddened Minerva, and that had been two months into her career.
When the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol had waved away her information on the culprits with a, "we'll see to it; wizards first of course, but it'll be done", she'd begun to feel like a Crup chasing its tail, occasionally getting hit with the spike for her time. When such answers became habitual, Minerva found herself growing more and more disconsolate. The thoughtless cruelty was overwhelming to someone who read the Muggle newspapers in order to stay connected to half of her parentage. So hours earlier, when Urquart had called her into his office to proudly inform her that after only two years, she was being promoted, her answer had come without a moment's hesitation.
"You turned down a position in the Improper Use of Magic Office?" Amelia demanded. Minerva winced slightly as several heads turned in their direction;
Amelia's booming voice could easily carry across the Quidditch pitch of a World Cup match, let alone the crowded Ministry canteen.
"Keep your voice down," she hissed. Amelia gave her a look that clearly said she wanted her question answered. Now. "It came as somewhat of a surprise to me as well, but yes."
"You do know that it's the second-most elite division in our department after the Aurors!"
"As people have been saying as much for over a decade, I had managed to glean that bit of information."
"So you'll stay on in Misuse of Muggle Artifacts? Well-"
"No. I've been offered a teaching post in the Transfiguration department at Hogwarts, starting in December."
Amelia eyed her, thick brows raised. She seemed to be choosing her words carefully, which was rather worrying, but Minerva returned the stare beadily.
She was infrequent friends with the eldest of the Bones family, seeking her out when their ambitions and timetables permitted. She liked Amelia for her similar dedication, cast-iron moral sense, desire for making herself heard, and formidable outlook, and preferred not to part on bad terms. But if it came down to a sometimes-friendship or defending the principles some saw as naiveté...
"The bigots have gotten to you, haven't they," she said finally. Her tone was sorrowful, yet the elder witch did not appear to hold her accountable. Could good terms be an understatement? Minerva found herself hoping so.
"I expected more open-mindedness from our justice system, particularly with this group running around."
"They seem to be making quite a name for themselves in the Dark community. I heard a rumour the leader's adopted Lord as a title."
"How humble," said Minerva, sipping her Gillywater and setting down the glass rather harder than necessary. "Well you'll let me know when his lordship and his envoys have been caught, won't you?"
"Of course. You'll let me know if you hear anything unusual up at the school."
Minerva was skeptical. "Do you really believe it will come to that?"
"No, but it would at least get you to send owls."
She said nothing, but gave a small smile. Apparently infrequent was not synonymous with unimportant; Minerva rarely made wrong assumptions; she was pleased to have done so in this instance.
"If you wanted to stay at the Ministry," Amelia said, holding up a hand before Minerva could register a protest, jaw set in a way she knew meant Amelia intended to say her piece. "The Aurors aren't nearly as prejudiced you know, and your talents would be invaluable in reconnaissance."
"I WILL NOT use my Animagus form for spying, and I'm surprised you decided to pass on disreputable habits."
"There is nothing ignoble about reconnaissance if it helps innocent lives," Amelia rejoined.
"And it's easy to believe and quote various laws when you sit behind a desk all day." In an Auror's world view, the only viable reason to become an Animagus was for covert activities; there was no room for someone like Minerva, who'd simply wanted to know if she could master every field of Transfiguration.
Aside from that, there were the old concerns about her competitiveness possibly interfering with her work. It had been what had stopped her from attempting
the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol two years previously, and as the Aurors always proved you never became "elite" without demonstrating your competitive nature, Hogwarts was the best place for her.
"Nevertheless," Amelia plowed on before the silence stretched too long, "I think you'd make a brilliant Auror, and that way you'd get to have a hand in stopping this Wizards first mentality."
"Thank you, but I thought Aurors weren't supposed to be emotionally invested in their assignments."
Amelia nodded. "It's difficult picturing you as a professor, not impossible, but difficult. You might try and impress upon your students how foolish it is to break the law and promote yourself as Wizarding royalty."
"If what everyone's saying is true, and the man is really that arrogant, the Ministry should have the people responsible for the attacks in custody in no time."
Amelia smiled, raising her goblet of pumpkin juice in a toast. "Undoubtedly. To successful endeavours."
In later years, Minerva would find the remembered clink of their glasses rang with mockery.
*****
MINERVA
1979
"But surely they were wearing Muggle clothes?" she managed weakly through her disbelief, praying one aspect of common sense had penetrated the boys' skulls.
"In a manner of speaking." Albus's mouth twitched. "I never envisioned Fawkes as a literal mascot, but their T-shirts certainly seem to have done him proud."
Minerva gazed at the starry sky, her own amusement dampened by the circumstances. You were not supposed to still be receiving reports of your students' escapades after they left school, even if they were fellow combatants in a war. Granted, she had never believed for a moment that Potter and Black (or any of her former charges who'd become fighters) wouldn't cause a stir wherever they went, but they were at least, in the name of Heaven, supposed to have enough care not to use a flying motorbike for a stealth assignment!
"I suppose I can't have expected any less," she said finally, returning her gaze to the man walking beside her. "It fits their little gang's attitudes so far. James Potter somehow Stunning those Werewolves without getting bitten last month, Remus Lupin rescuing that child from that house practically collapsing from Fiendfyre, Sirius Black taking on that giant-"
"And you must admit, managing quite well even with two broken ribs and a cracked skull to add to his collection of battle wounds." He glanced toward the Quidditch pitch, as if only now registering it on their circuit of the grounds. "If memory serves, you achieved greater injuries during matches."
"You cannot repair a person's life," Minerva snapped, refusing to soften even as the bright blue eyes twinkled with gentle humour.
"They're young." His eyes had grown serious in the moment's pause, their light diminished. "If any of them begin showing as much sense as we do beyond that obtained through maturity, then Voldemort"--as usual he ignored her flinch--"will have become even more powerful."
"I know that, but that doesn't mean I'm not tempted to punish them! Sometimes they might as well not have left school for all the difference in their maturation."
"To you, Minerva, they will always be the spirited boys who bewitched the twelve Christmas trees in the Great Hall to tap-dance in the wake of Mr. Filch."
She knew what he meant; teachers never forgot how a students' career began, and to a degree such an impression never faded. Wryly, she thought it best not to ask which memory served as the foundation for his opinion of her. Nevertheless, if that lot were a few years older and wiser, she would feel less uneasy about them risking their lives.
"I suppose they are putting their troublemaking to good use if Death Eaters are suffering. And Lord knows there's enough going on at the moment without arranging detentions."
"A silver lining. Speaking of which, Frank Longbottom got a message to me about the Inferi sightings. I was worried he wouldn't find time with the state of things at the Ministry." He had spoken more quietly and seriously than the news warranted (Merlin knew Inferi sightings were becoming almost common these days), and her voice sharpened at the prospect of bad news on the heels of good.
"What is it now? Aside from this latest batch of disappearances outnumbering any arrests the Ministry's made."
"They have not made any arrests for several months now. Logically and legally no one investigates solely on guesswork, and according to Alastor, that's all the Aurors have these days, with the limitations imposed by only Voldemort knowing the identities behind Death Eater masks." He sighed. "Bureaucracy is working quite spectacularly against them."
Now Minerva frowned in puzzlement. She knew this; one of the reasons she had joined the Order was the fact that, unhindered by the limitations of paperwork and one's rank in a department, it could go where the Ministry could not. At its most basic, the Order could tail those who were overly suspicious, but on whom no one could lay genuine proof, and act accordingly if need be.
"Is there someone we need to watch?" she asked, after making sure the grounds still remained deserted. "I'm marking essays this weekend, but that can always be left-" She let the words trail off, sudden understanding destroying the frail hope (or frankly wish) that this latest problem could be easily solved.
"Can they do anything?"
He looked sorrowful.
"Naturally the Aurors will attend to certain matters: killing giants, combating Werewolves and Inferi. And apart from the disappearances, Muggles should remain unaware of our existence. Otherwise the Ministry is in complete disarray. The Prophet should even be getting wind of it soon."
She believed him, but felt as if the ground had been cut out from under her. While the Ministry of Magic had long ago lost any appeal, Minerva could never say it failed in its purpose of general protection, or that she had ever imagined a time when it would falter before a threat. It was true that lately the Order had been having more success, Black and Potter being an immediate example, but it was hard to conceive of the implacable Ministry--secure since the sixteen hundreds, occasionally draconian--bowing under the pressure of, terrifying as he was, a murderer and his sycophants.
"Do you mean that───Albus───will he-"
"No," he assured, "Voldemort cannot possibly obtain control of the Ministry as long as Millicent Bagnold and Barty Crouch hold their current posts."
"And you continue to give everyone advice," she added, fondly exasperated at his modesty. "Really Dumbledore, they're going to offer you the Minister's job again when Bagnold retires."
"It would be the height of rudeness for me to accept the offer; they would have to issue new Chocolate Frog cards." As usual his levity sobered her, and the enormity of being the only ones resisting You-Know-Who threatened to break her composure.
"It's really just us? Not that we've ever relied on the Ministry, but I won't pretend being allied in general wasn't a comfort."
"No one will balk at an opportunity to fight if it arises, but the Order of the Phoenix is the only fully functioning anti-Voldemort movement."
"And how many members do you think we'll still have when you tell them that?" Now it was his turn to survey the area in contemplation, but to her surprise, Dumbledore's ruminations produced a smile.
"A great deal. Do you know, people seem to find remarkable strength always when we least expect it."
*****
AMELIA
Mid-August 1981
As a senior official, she felt compelled to boost people's spirits during her free-time, assuming such was possible. As most were going into hysterics about the ever-increasing amount of homes with the Dark Mark above their roofs, fearing theirs would be next, or terrified that Greyback would come for their families, Amelia found a perverse sort of relief in spending time with the Aurors. Not that they were immune to fear, but most were so determined to turn the tide that it was buried to be examined in private. She spent more time conveying logic to overactive imaginations/adrenaline than uttering platitudes workers had heard or said themselves a hundred times before, and only now chose to find comfort in. Since no one knew what would happen from one day to the next, which oftentimes meant no platitude was comfort enough, the switch from assisting civilians to soldiers was a welcome distraction.
"It's ridiculous!" Rufus Scrimgeour's anger was palpable as she pushed through the doors to the Auror cubicles. Gawain Robards, a lower-ranking Auror, stood beside him looking equally disgruntled, but otherwise the area had been deserted for lunch.
"What's ridiculous?"
"Afternoon, Madam Bones," said Robards, not so irate that he would forget a friendly greeting.
Scrimgeour, it seemed, had crossed the borderline between emotion and manners, as he fixed his yellow eyes on her and snarled, "The whole department is talking about how Moody arrested eight Death Eaters and killed two more a week ago. It was chance any of them were in the same place as those Inferi we were after, and then Moody handles all of them when he wasn't even called for backup! We should at least be equal to a disloyal member of the office!"
Amelia frowned. She'd always thought of Scrimgeour as an Alastor Moody in the making, without the troubling paranoia; tough, a survivor, rough around the edges; to find his wand in a knot over someone whose best qualities it would behoove him to emulate was disheartening, but it was the last phrase that unsettled her.
"I fail to see how you find him disloyal, or the felling of so many Death Eaters problematic."
"The vigilantes were a part of this as well, and he's more than likely one of them with how close he and Dumbledore are. Though Moody claims he was merely on his rounds when the skirmish broke out."
"Innocent until proven guilty. And why is that implausible?"
"It isn't, but we'll never know which organisation he was giving credit to," Robards explained.
"Credit?! Having fewer Death Eaters in the world is far more important than the Aurors not being able to swagger when someone mentions an arrest!"
Both men had the grace to look mildly sheepish, but only just. She'd interacted with enough of them to know Aurors were the living embodiment of the saying "pride goeth before the fall", but had presumed it had some limits. Amelia supposed she would feel differently if a renegade group took the making of laws into their own hands, but at the moment her eyes were narrowed in incredulity.
As if to prove the persistence of his individual pride, Scrimgeour changed tack, brushing aside her statement's validity. "The public are frightened enough without it looking as though the Aurors can't do their job. And if public morale is low, the Death Eaters will feel confident. They cannot be allowed to think we're weakening!"
Robards shook his head sympathetically. She began to see, distantly, what this was about now. Most of the arrests had involved more time flying over the North Sea than dueling. But telling either of them that they would soon have legal grounds for tracking and arresting someone without Order intervention would rub salt in open wounds. They would regroup and succeed unaided soon enough.
"Nor does it help that while Moody helped us bring the lot in, the vigilantes that were there went off and rounded up a good seven more. Not individually of course, b-"
"They have no business interfering with Auror work!" the senior wizard concluded.
They were quite the pair, standing almost shoulder to shoulder, braced for battle, united in the belief that the Auror office could handle something none had seen the likes of without aid. A month ago it would have engendered pride; but a month ago she'd had two little brothers.
"Are the Order of the Phoenix bringing people to Azkaban now?" she asked pointedly, clarifying when both men looked blank: "An Auror's work is capturing Dark Wizards, and I can't imagine why anyone would go to that prison of their own volition when it was unnecessary."
"What does it matter if they leave the actual transport to us," Scrimgeour answered coldly. "It is our job to stop He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers, not a bunch of ragtag civilians rallying behind a school Headmaster! Even with his brilliance, what would Dumbledore possibly know about combat?"
"He did win a duel against Grindelwald; that would suggest he knows a great deal," Amelia pointed out.
Scrimgeour nodded, all but bristling, and she stifled a sigh. It was as much character and actions as titles and their perceived weight that earned people respect and loyalty. Someday he would see that.
"Regardless of Dumbledore's fighting prowess"--he unclenched his jaw--"some of these Order of the Phoenix people can't be more than nineteen; it's not up to them to sort this out. They're breaking the law."
"Not in principle," Robards interjected, ever the logical Ravenclaw. All they needed was a former member of Slytherin House to make their conversations truly divided. "There's nothing against British citizens defending themselves, and if this Order were simply a freelance form of protective skills that might be a different matter altogether. Provided it was sanctioned by the Ministry."
"But that isn't the case," Scrimgeour snapped, "and what they're doing is illegal."
"And according to the more prominent illegal group, it's justifiable to kill Muggle-borns and Muggles. I think we can forgo the lesser of two evils, Rufus."
Amelia was rather gratified to see that both men's expressions had shifted from reproving to bewildered, eyes fastened on her as though she'd had a run in with something from Experimental Charms and come off like Gilbert Wimple.
"You-you think they've got the right of it." Robards sounded as though he were trying not to startle an animal he had believed tame.
She shook her head. It was becoming clearer to her that Dumbledore had realised probably long before the rest of them (they'd been working under the assumption that these people were a minor threat for an embarrassing length of time), that the Ministry could not be expected to devote itself entirely to He-Who-Must-Not-be-Named.
When those departments that were involved stopped to handle the day to day matters of governing, the Order of the Phoenix would attempt to cover the gaps.
Amelia could not find it objectionable. It wasn't lawful, but it was unreasonable to say only those with Ministerial training could defend the innocent, with panic and confusion as perpetual a climate as the sweltering temperatures.
Edgar and his family's death had taught her that. And while she would never impugn the Ministry, the love and loyalty she felt for her family culminated in resentment that none of them had been given a decent farewell. A burial, certainly, and recognition of how they had died, but not why. There was no discussion of Edgar's battle prowess despite how much of it the Ministry had seen; no acknowledgement of the heroism she was sure had made him a target. The fact that such unfairness would never have occurred, if not for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, had simply hardened her resolve that the monsters tearing their world apart be stopped. By anyone who could manage it. Yet because explaining this would get her nowhere--it had taken the near obliteration of her family for such a conclusion, and that was without the Auror biases which bonded her colleagues--Amelia summarized, "I think they're being useful. Neither of us are doing as well as we would like, but Order of the Phoenix members have shown they're as competent as the Ministry. The Obliviators haven't been putting in overtime on their account after all."
"That's true enough," Robards admitted grudgingly, "But if Dumbledore wanted to be of use he would dissolve the group and relay any information or suspicions to the Ministry. If he had done that sooner lives could───" He broke off, looking horrorstruck as his eyes filled with comprehension. Not wanting to see the pity that would follow, Amelia turned back toward the oak doors.
"We should get lunch before we're working on empty stomachs."
"They're dying when there's no cause for it," Scrimgeour said abruptly, "no amount of usefulness can mitigate that."
"Perfectly true," she agreed, wrenching open a door, "that's why I look forward to the day He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is killed. Blaming Dumbledore or Edgar would be easier, but that would be putting personal opinion above fact."
*****
AMELIA
June 1996
She entered the ward on the fourth floor of St. Mungo's Hospital to find that all the beds were empty accept for the one in which Minerva sat, frowning at the partially-eaten bowl of porridge on her lap.
"Is it as awful as I remember?"
Minerva lifted a spoonful to her mouth, grimaced, swallowed, then grimaced again. "Yes."
Amelia hid a chuckle behind her hand.
"Do you know when they're going to discharge you?"
"Tomorrow, unless something comes up."
"Glad to hear it. You look well." She Conjured a chair, directing it to land by Minerva's bedside.
"You look tired."
"Long day at the Ministry, and I'll need to be getting back soon. You heard what happened, I suppose."
"Albus told me. A second war with He-WHO-Must-Not-BE-Named that we can all acknowledge, unlike this time last year."
"Yes, the Prophet should be releasing an article with all the details tomorrow. We can't have another war like the last one."
"Don't you mean none of us can afford another year like this past one?" Minerva asked.
Amelia nodded.
"The Ministry's staying clear of Hogwarts, but you're right. Everything that has happened could have been avoided if we were actively working with the Order. The Azkaban break-out, this row between Arthur Weasley and his son"--she failed to keep her voice light as intended, but felt better regarding her lack of emotional control when Minerva's mouth thinned--"and Harry Potter would never have had that sort of hearing."
"Did you have any luck with your investigation?" asked Minerva eagerly. Dumbledore had made a comment at the boy's hearing about the Ministry making an inquiry into the Dementors actions on the second of August, glancing at Amelia as he'd done so. Amelia had been acting in Dumbledore's capacity, both due to him being the witness for the defense and to her being the only unbiased interrogator, and whether he'd intended her to act or not, discovering the motivation behind the incident had filled many moments otherwise used for leisure.
"The Dementors had authorization. Dolores Umbridge will have a great deal to answer for once things settle down."
A predatory smile curved Minerva's mouth, and Amelia had to bite back one of her own at the visceral image of a purring cat in her friend's place.
"You do realise Fudge will never agree to that," Minerva sighed bitterly, "he might have regained his common sense, but he is inordinately fond of that woman."
"We both know the Wizarding community won't view him as competent for much longer, and Fudge is rather-"
"A slave to blood purity and public opinion!"
"If he weren't, there's a chance several deaths could have been prevented." She peered out the small window, knowing Minerva would speak when she'd collected herself. She had--or rather had had--a fondness for young Mr. Black, though one had to parse the words with a fine toothed comb to find affection beneath the brusqueness. And he'd been innocent, apparently, because the Ministry burying its head in the sand couldn't be the only consequence of a year's debacle.
That had been one of the many factors that had brought her here. One of several facts that made it clear no one could take up the same positions they had all those years ago. Part of the reason they had barely survived the last war was because Minister Bagnold and Barty Crouch had worked as opposites, her rational logic balancing his willingness to act in moral grey areas. No matter what post they filled, the Ministry required both types of people, yet currently stood at a disadvantage with no one to fill Crouch's role. Perhaps by allying with Dumbledore--
"Everyone knows you would make a fine Minister for Magic," said Minerva abruptly, voice steady.
"I don't like counting my owls before they're delivered."
"Only because you're too humble," Minerva reproached. "Logically you would be the best for the post, and you can't tell me you haven't considered it."
"For the sake of argument let's say you're right. I want us working together properly. Not just Obliviators turning up after your lot have been fighting, or our Aurors having undisclosed sources on whereabouts of subdued Death Eaters that I turn a blind eye to. We can at least hold He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named up if we're not divided."
"I should think the Aurors will object to working alongside civilians, or people they think should be arrested." said Minerva irritably. "They never took kindly to us fighting Death Eaters, and that was when we did everything short of imprisoning them."
"Unless they wish to resign and deliberately leave us with fewer fighters for the sake of their pride, objections can be dealt with. Though the only person I think will make them will be Rufus Scrimgeour. Leaving would make him something of a hypocrite, though. He's a soldier first and foremost. He couldn't stay out of battle forever, and Robards should be able to make him understand the importance of co-operation."
"That's all very well and good, as long as Robards doesn't get swept along in Scrimgeour's temper. You can't afford to have the Head and Deputy Head of the Aurors resigning any more than merely the Head."
"Robards is like you in his practicality. I've been their superior and advisor for years, and with Dumbledore's knack for getting to the heart of a situation, there should only be a few token complaints before Rufus calms down."
Minerva discarded the remains of her porridge with a careless wave of her wand before saying, "There might be some information Albus is not willing to share. He isn't the sort to keep all his secrets in one basket."
"That's quite all right," she lied. "No"--she searched for words--"general, should. We share what will benefit us collectively. Information that pertains to individual fighters or spies will go where it's most useful. As long as we work together in general matters."
She wasn't offended by the idea of Dumbledore not being completely under her control. Absolute power was said to corrupt absolutely after all. Not to mention there were Ministry secrets Dumbledore hadn't a right to, and if he were allowed to keep his she could be permitted to do likewise.
"Now that I think about it, that should prove beneficial. If He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attacks either of us, quite a few of either the Ministry's or the Order's plans will be safe."
"I see." Green eyes met navy blue in a moment of grim understanding. Fear was present in the look too, for what and who would be lost this time. Conquering this threat would test them, again. Their courage, their intelligence, their skill, their favouritism with fate. However, they were more experienced than before, one of their faction had not been idle for a year (or longer, she wouldn't put anything past Dumbledore at present), and everyone involved was or would soon be willing to pull together to effectively ensure the well-being of Britain's people.
"Hurry up!" screeched Amelia's watch from inside the pocket of her robes. She pulled it out, glanced at it, and stood with an apologetic look.
"You must be cutting it fine," Minerva surmised, before she could provide an explanation. "Right then, I will inform Albus when I return. With term ending and the Minister's successor being chosen any day now, the three of us and Rufus Scrimgeour should be able to properly discuss things sometime in mid-July."
"That would be an accurate assessment," Amelia agreed, Vanishing the chair. She felt as though they had accomplished a great deal despite the brevity of their conversation. This time, things would be altered for the better. "I'll see the both of you soon."
*****
MINERVA
May 2, 1998
He caught her attention because he was doing the same thing she was: searching the Great Hall for the bereaved or injured. However, unlike her, he was suffering from apparent indecision, hovering by the table the house-elves had laden with drinks. Feeling her gaze, he inclined his head, and Minerva chose to read it as an invitation.
"Robards, isn't it? Gawain Robards?"
"Yes, Professor."
"No one's going to begrudge you a bit of comfort, you know," she said, nodding at the table. He took a bottle of Butterbeer with a self-deprecating twistof his mouth.
"It's difficult to remember I don't have to set an example for people."
"That's right, you were Head of the Auror Office before you went into hiding." He blinked.
"Is omniscience a requirement of Hogwarts Headmasters and Mistresses?"
"No. Robards isn't a Wizarding name, and you've been absent from the Prophet for the past nine months. The Head Auror would be involved even in arrests in a Ministry under He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's leadership, but your name vanished just before the article on the Muggle-born Registration Commission came out." He cast her an appreciative smile.
"Well reasoned. I've been using The Quibbler to keep up with what's been going on when I couldn't get in touch with Kingsley." Minerva felt her brows lift a fraction. She had never thought Kingsley and Robards were close, but was hardly one to judge friendships, or circumstantial alliances for that matter. Kingsley was one of the few people in a good enough position to provide information about everyone.
"What made him decide to inform you about tonight? Have you expressed interest in direct combat?" Minerva asked.
He shook his head, permitting himself a long draft from the bottle before responding.
"I happened to use my two-way mirror, wanting to know if the rumours about the Gringotts break in were true, and I suspect Kingsley thought that if I agreed to come, there'd be one more wand against them. But that's not the entirety of what you want to know, is it?"
"No. I understand why Potter came back here, but it isn't as though every Muggle-born has come out of the woodwork to fight. I rather wonder about your motivation."
"Some would say that's none of your concern," he said mildly.
"I once sat on a brick wall all day to find out whether a rumour was true, if that gives you any idea of my persistence, and if you were opposed to this conversation you could have walked away by now."
"And there is that saying about cats," he countered good-naturedly.
Annoyance and dulled grief pricked her. No other Animagus form was the source of such teasing, and in a certain mood Albus would have made a similar remark.
"Would you care to assuage my curiosity, Gawain? Particularly as both of us could die of something far more painful."
"It was the right thing to do. No more people should die because the Dark Lord thinks it's his birthright to rule the world." Traces of hardened grief filled his eyes and the ravaged lines of his face.
She didn't know him well enough to say he'd changed for the better, but the war had done some reshaping. The last time she'd seen him had been at Dumbledore's funeral, one of many in the Ministry's congregation of "mourners" who'd done nothing of consequence. Not that Robards was entirely at fault; Scrimgeour hadn't even bothered making a speech. When he'd sat through the eulogy only to run after Harry the moment it concluded, leaving Gawain and the rest to mill about awkwardly, she'd known that working together was impossible. Albus and Amelia had been the only people who could have made some progress, and too many personal feelings--including her own--had been in the way to manage it. Now, however, a member of the formerly corrupt, as opposed to the currently deplorable, Ministry of Magic had been fighting alongside them for the last few hours in spite of the past. If that meant what she hoped it did, no matter who or how many of them survived tonight...
Reaching for a goblet of pumpkin juice, she took a fortifying swig before asking, "And if we defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, will you regret throwing in your lot with vigilantes?"
"Surely you realise what a difficult question that is to answer, Minerva" he replied, eyes flitting around the Hall as though to emphasize the point before settling on her again, "with nothing to distinguish either faction."
She smiled, and on an impulse borne of pleasure and relief, lifted her goblet. "To a united victory."
He raised his bottle, and to Minerva, the clink of glasses rang clear and bright.