Penthuisiast
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SD: CH50 - Quid Pro Quo
🕑 Added 2023-03-26 21:50:38 +0000 UTC“We do not need to go through any preamble,” Amelia Bones declared, cutting my words short. “You’ve requested an audience with the DMLE Director, so I’d ask you to get to the point and not waste my time. I’m a busy woman.”
I simply smiled, letting her sharpness wash over me. Any other person in my shoes would’ve probably panicked and launched into an uncontrolled explanation just to avoid her displeasure, revealing far more than I had planned. Amelia was intentionally positioning herself as an authority — which was admittedly true as she was one of the strongest political entities in the field, and using that as bait. It was simple and clever, but ultimately useless and ineffective against me. I had more than enough surprises to destroy her balance.
“I wish to talk about a grave miscarriage of justice. Do you have a pensive?”
She curled an eyebrow.
I sighed. “Sirius Black is innocent. He was my godfather, yes, but he wasn’t my parent’s secret keeper. It was Peter Pettigrew who had been, until last summer, hiding with the Weasleys as Scabbers, their family pet rat. Oh, and Sirius Black never got a trial.”
I expected sudden outrage, maybe, or a biting remark, or at least an exclamation. Amelia didn’t do any of that. She just returned my stare, calm and poised and lovely as you please, one arm folded across her breasts on the table, while the other idly twirling the wand beneath the glass desk.
She fixed me with a quiet, weary gaze. “I’m hoping you realise what an outrageous statement you’re making, Mr. Potter.”
“I couldn’t have ignored it if I tried.”
“I’m not going to ask you if you’re sure, or if your memories will stand a verification from the Department of Mysteries,” she said in her quiet, steady voice. “I’ll just inform you that should I find you’ve wasted my and the Department’s time, it will count as a strong red mark against your character and enough to keep you out of the Wizengamot chambers until you’ve passed your NEWTs with a three-year clean chit from the DMLE.”
“Naturally.”
“Wonderful!” She gave me a brief, bitter smile. “I was hoping you’d deny. This… complicates things.”
“Truth is often stranger than fiction,” I replied, shrugging.
She gave me a glower, which was probably the most emotional reaction I had seen from her, minus that half a second of her eye glistening at the mention of my parents. In return, I gave her a smile that was part challenge and part apology, and relaxed into my seat.
“I’ve got the memories ready in vials,” I said, and produced a small vial-case from my pocket. Locked in place inside it were a collection of fourteen memories, all of them from the last three years. Turns out having Eidetic Memory also impacted the quality of my pensive memories, and instead of looking through a blurry, glassy window, it was like watching it happen with crystal clarity.
“That’s a lot of memories.”
“I didn’t think you’d be willing to view them with one over tea every other day.”
“And those contain?”
“The truths behind the rumours you’ve heard about me over the past three years. My meeting with Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew at Hogwarts and everything that followed until those unruly dementor problems began. The memories get a bit shaky after that, you know, what with the kiss and all.”
Amelia gave me a look of very gentle reproof. “I’ll view them at leisure. But assuming what you say is true, what do you wish for me to do? Sirius Black is dead. Getting him proved innocent will not bring the dead back to living. As for Pettigrew, he has been a dead man in the eyes of the Ministry since 1981. Even discounting the inability for Pensive memories to be accounted for as evidence in Wizengamot trials, I simply do not find any way how I might gather enough quorum to debate over Sirius Black’s innocence. At this point it’s just an open and shut case.”
“It isn’t,” I claimed, channelling a little anger. “Dead or not, Sirius Black was my godfather, and I do not wish to see him remembered as a traitor when the real betrayer is out and plotting against me.”
“Sentimental tripe,” she said with a sniff. “If you care that much, publish an eulogy for your dead godfather in the Daily Prophet, claiming the truth behind your godfather’s demise. If enough people read it and talk about it, maybe Minister Fudge will do something about it. As for Pettigrew, you told him he’s stayed as the Weasley’s pet rat for over sixteen years, and you’ve shared dorm rooms with the Weasleys for the past three years. If Pettigrew intended to harm you, he had enough time and opportunity to do so.”
She pushed the file back at me. “Open and shut case. Now, is there anything else I can help you with?”
I narrowed my eyes on her. Amelia Bones was going to be a tough nut to crack, it seemed. I could always use Rank and demand her to take action but not only would it be a half-hearted attempt at best, it would destroy any and all chance of building any repo with her.
Need before Ego, as they said.
“You’re right,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “Sirius’s exoneration wouldn’t bring him back. And Pettigrew’s got enough chances to kill me in the past if he really wanted to. However, one of the memories I’ve submitted there contains the newest prophecy by Sybill Trelawney, mentioning how the Dark Lord’s servant would be free, and return to his Master, and cause him to return, more powerful than ever. You cannot tell me that’s not concerning.”
Amelia stared at me for several seconds. Finally, she let out what felt like an extremely refined snort from her nose. “I can see your angle, but again, it won’t work. Prophecies are woolly things and subject to interpretation. Unless this Prophecy actively mentions Pettigrew as the Dark Lord’s servant, and the Dark Lord actively refers to Lord Voldemort, there is nothing to tie the two of them together. And even if, by some stroke of luck, it does say so, then Sybill Trelawney is a known charlatan, as professed by generations of students that take her classes. Again, no case.”
“So you’re going to do nothing?” I asked, incensed.
She narrowed her eyes and looked a little less relaxed. “I never said I would do nothing, Mr. Potter. Pensive memories are not allowed as court evidence, but I can use it to target my people to look into the matter. Maybe put a group of hit-wizards on Pettigrew’s trail, but behind the scenes. If they find anything substantial, I can ask you to come file a case against Peter Pettigrew and then send Aurors to find more tangible evidence. However, that’s a long process and might take months and years, since we have no idea where the man might be at this moment.”
“The forests of Albania,” I said.
“And you know this, how?”
I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. My sources will not count as tangible evidence. Feel free to ignore them if you wish.”
The ends of her lips twisted. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re really after, Mr. Potter? If all you wanted was to supply me those memories, you could’ve done that without arranging this meeting. I happen to know that your secretary is on a first-name-basis with one of my Auror personnel.”
She was referring to Tonks.
I smiled. “The hard ones for the hard ones. You looked into me, I looked into you.”
She gave me an almost imperceptible nod.
“Good. This makes it easier.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because you know how far I’m going to go to get what I want. So here’s the truth. Sirius Black made me his heir. As of right now, I’m using that position to stay as Lord Conditional of House Black.” As proof, I subtly willed the Black ring into existence. “The goblins say that if I can prove his innocence within the next ten months, I should be able to ascend to Lord Black legally. Else, it will come down to a contest between myself and Draco Malfoy, and with Lucius sitting as Regent, I don’t feel my chances are that high.”
Amelia cocked her head, her eyes glinting. “So this is a matter of personal interest. Fortune. Not the miscarriage of justice you were preaching earlier.”
“Why can’t it be both?”
“Do not play games with me, Mr. Potter,” she scoffed. “And if you were really that worried about losing it to Draco Malfoy, perhaps you shouldn’t have been that hasty to bail him out earlier. Your… little game involving the unforgivable was very crudely implemented, but it had teeth. Gawain Robards could have made a case out of it.”
“It wouldn’t have helped.”
“And you think this will?” She challenged, “if anything, this makes you look worse. You think Lucius Malfoy will not run a check on you the moment this case hits the Wizengamot? That man has been using the Black Regency to exert significant control on the Wizengamot for years. You already have a history of framing charges on Draco Malfoy and then squirrelling out at the end, choosing to settle instead. It won’t take a seasoned solicitor ten minutes to turn the case from a miscarriage of justice to an attempt of Line Theft, and drop you in the accused’s chair for trying to steal Draco Malfoy’s inheritance.”
Her eyes went distant for a moment, and a frown line marred the perfection of her brow. “If that is all, Mr. Potter, this meeting is over.”
“Not quite, Madam Bones,” I stressed. “But you’re right. A direct assault makes me look like a bad guy. But you must understand that I have a ton of information, both on the Dark Lord and his Inner Circle. I don’t see why a little sitdown like this can’t be profitable for the both of us.”
Her eyes narrowed again and she took a slow, deep breath. “What do you mean?”
Aha. That firm cold tone. My words had touched a nerve. Nothing in canon ever said anything about Madam Bones’s flexibility as a politician. Being on the Light side didn’t mean you had to be a stick in the mud goody-two-shoes. But it also didn’t mean you had to be a greedy bastard. There were infinite shades of grey in the middle and the trick was to find where she fell in that spectrum.
“I know that Lucius Malfoy is responsible for the budget cuts you face every year. I also know that the Department of International Trade Regulations, while part of your DMLE, eats away a major share of your budget with nonsense expenses. I also know that the number of Aurors and Hit-wizards on your payroll is far greater than you can afford with the existing budget, or the last six years.”
Her eyes grew into flints. “Are you suggesting that I’m embezzling funds to pay my people?”
I relaxed into my seat. “No, Madam Bones. I’m saying that you’re paying them from House Bones’s annual profits. You’re literally the DMLE’s backbone.”
Of all the things I had told her, this had shocked her the most.
“Granted, there are people that have helped you. House McMillian, House Fawley, House Longbottom and Crouch, but they’ve limited themselves to resisting the budget cuts at the Wizengamot and barely substantial donations to the Department in exchange for a lower tax bracket. I know how you and your folk do business — from behind proxies and cat-paws. You can’t possibly expect me to believe that you’re running the DMLE legally under Fudge’s administration.”
Something flickered in her eyes, changing from the deep brown to a far, paler, metallic shade and she rose to her feet. “I do not care what you believe, Mr. Potter. I have no reason to justify my actions, nor prove myself against whatever evidence you might think you’ve discovered.”
“True, but at the same time, you’re the only one pillar that’s holding the bridge from falling amidst Fudge’s collection of deluded fools whose self-righteous prattle has always taken second place to its hypocritical practice. How long do you think that pillar will remain? I have it on good authority that Voldemort will return in a year’s time. How long before they target you? How long before the Ministry collapses under its own obsolescent weight?”
Amelia leaned the heels of her hands on the desk and faced me, her words clipped and precise. “You make grand, sweeping statements, Mr. Potter, but unless you’ve got anything tangible to contribute, I suggest you drop this topic. Your ten minutes are over, and the most you can hope from this is me not putting a red mark against your name for speaking against the Ministry.”
Good. She was reacting. That was progress.
“If you work with me, I can make your problems disappear.”
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Mr. Potter—”
“Before the month is over.”
Whatever she had expected me to say, this wasn’t it. Instead, she went very still, opening her mouth, as if to retort, only to decide otherwise at the last moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was very cold and very precise. “How can you… be so sure of that?”
And just like that, I realised, I had got her. I suppressed the urge to fold my arms, because that would send negative signals to her. Pragmatic she may be, but I was a sixteen-year-old and she was a DMLE Director with a bruised ego. Seeing me act victorious was only going to twist the knife deeper.
“I have… information on Lucius Malfoy’s activities, about his partners-in-crime. Some of that has been legally obtained through channels, others not so much. I can tell you that Lucius Malfoy has no knowledge about my status as Lord Conditional, and I’m reasonably certain that he wouldn’t find it before it’s too late. If you target your people on my directions—”
“If you expect me to be your attack dog, Potter, you've got another thing coming.”
“Forgive me, Amelia, but I’m helping you get rid of Lucius Malfoy forever, as well as a draft of fifty thousand galleons to the DMLE budget every year from the Black Vaults. The same Vaults that have been used to funnel gold into Fudge’s election fund. And if you want that, then yes, for the remainder of this month, I need the DMLE to be my attack dog.”
I snapped out that one in a tone of pure authority, one I used when dealing with my kind of people back in my world. Amelia froze and arched an eyebrow at me, but only for a split second. After a long, anxious second, I pulled out a stack of papers from my robe and dropped it on the desk.
“A detailed study on House Black’s investments. Malfoy’s sly enough to keep the illegal schemes away from his financial statements, and dump them all in House Black’s, under the cover of angel investments to other companies. Gallo-loans, Magical meanderies, Lomfay Enterprises — it's just one thing after another.”
Amelia pulled the files and perused through them, her hawk-like eyes carefully noting the places I had even marked and made commentary on in the files. “This is… incredibly detailed. It’s even caught the discrepancies between listed assets and potential assets.”
“Yep. Millions, right?”
Amelia nodded absently. “Whoever has done it, definitely knows their job.”
I didn’t tell her that it was me who did it. There was simply no need to attract more attention.
She lifted one of the files and held it. “Greengrass Exports. That’s who you need attacked, right?”
“Just enough to keep him on his feet for the remainder of the month. Broderick Greengrass already has too many fingers into this mess to bother with keeping Phyllida afloat. And Phyllida is our ticket to destroying them outright.”
“You realise this will look bad on you? If news of these businesses comes afloat, House Black might suffer a lot of financial damage.”
I grinned at her. Shark-like. “Come on, Madam Bones. If this comes out, the Wizengamot will be tearing itself in half. There will be blood in the water, yes, but it won’t be just House Black’s. And from a political standpoint, the others are far more tastier.”
Amelia sighed and collapsed into her chair. “Tell me, Mr. Potter, how would you like to spend the rest of your weekend here at Bones Manor? Maybe we could use this time to get acquainted like we should have?”
I smiled. “Only if you call me Harry.”
