Harry Potter 1. The Coast and the Ministry

All characters and references are the property of J.K. Rowling unless invented by me

Chapter One

A small farmhouse, sitting on a sun-flavoured green coast flecked with gold jutting into Wanneigh Bay, lay barren on that day. Moss-covered brown and grey stones piled high, some crumbling and others fallen down completely, allowed soft light a chance to penetrate the earthen darkness within. A wooden door was hanging by its hinges, offering protection from neither nature nor beast. Two low stone walls guided a short path from the door, though it was so out of use that the walls were the only indication it had ever functioned as such. There were only a few trees growing near the house, but a number of red leaves, as evidence of the changing season, were scattered about the ground and on top of the roof, which had once been thatched but had lost most of its shape to the ages.

The young man walking up the hill and quickly making his way to the farmhouse, then, was truly a rare visitor. He had not come, though, to admire the fine view of the sea, or the beauty of an Irish autumn. Standing for a moment at the door, he shot a furtive glance around, and swept the blonde hair out of his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside and trodded quickly across the floor, his feet creating new impressions in the dust of the floor that had spent decades accumulating. In the dark far left corner of the room, untouched by the rays of light shining through the breaches in the walls, he stopped. At first, it looked indistinguishable from the rest of the dirty floor. Then...

"Ah-ha!" he cried.

Seizing a previously unnoticed brown handle, he pulled it upward. With a great wrenching noise, revealing a mechanism that had clearly been rusted by time, the trapdoor sprung open with a clang. In a cloud of dust, Draco Malfoy saw a ladder in the darkness. What he had come for was here. With a jolt of trepidation, he climbed into the hole.

"_Geminio!_"

The elderly witch's wand emitted a soft hum and fleetingly issued a green radiance. As quickly as it happened, though, the wand was back to its original dull self. 9 inches, maple, thestral hair. Threstals were a bad omen, Charlie thought. All the same, it seemed this woman's wand was incapable of being duplicated by magical means, and was genuine. With a grimace, he handed it back to the ancient, hobbled woman standing in front of him.

"You may proceed, ma'am, mind yer step," he said in a weary voice.

"Thank you, young man."

She gave him a toothless grin and limped through the oaken doorway behind him.

"Next! Name?"

"Neville Longbottom, 30 July 1991, son of Mr. Frank and Mrs. Augusta Longbottom, both deceased, pureblood."

"Is that so? Well let me just double check your wand here, and I'll let you through, Neville. I know who you are." He smiled. He drew his own wand, and tapped Neville Longbottom's brown wand with his own. Sitting on his desk was a large, red book with a gold _M _glossed on the front. He tapped it with his own wand in in quick succession. The book flew open to reveal the "L"s. _Longbottom, Neville _briefly turned gold and back to black.

"That checks out, Neville," he said sheepishly "Sorry we have to do this, but with security bein' like it is, yer know..."

"Not a problem, Charlie. Thanks..."

With a chuckle, Neville, too, proceeded through the doorway.

End of Chapter One

Reviews welcome, this is the first fanfic I've written, so I'd love some pointers and advice. Thanks for reading!


	2. The Will be Shaken

All characters and references are the property of J.K. Rowling, unless invented by me. Poem excerpt taken from _England's Answer _by Rudyard Kipling.

And the Law that ye make shall be law after the rule of your lands.

This for the waxen Heath, and that for the Wattle-bloom,

This for the Maple-leaf, and that for the southern Broom.

The Law that ye make shall be law and I do not press my will,

Because ye are Sons of The Blood and call me Mother still.

Chapter Two

A bevy of voices rose to the ceiling of the cavernous round grey dungeon. Shadows danced in purple light thrown upon the walls and on the benches which surrounded the room on all sides. At the front of the benches, opposite the door, was a high podium. Though the benches had grown quite crowded with clamouring spectators, the podium remained empty. People began looking around in confusion at each other.

"Where is he..."

"This thing was 'sposed to run from six ta seven, it's quarter ta eight already, I've caught enough 'ell from the missus..."

" He's never this late, what's keeping him..."

"Oi, there he is," yelled someone suddenly.

A wizened man slowly walked into the room and made his way to the podium. The din bouncing around the dungeon had been replaced by a deathly silence, penetrated only by the occasional cough or hushed whisper. All of the eyes in the room were trained upon him, until at last, with some effort, Kingsley Shacklebolt climbed up the stairs and took his place at the speaker's platform.

"Members of the Wizengamot, I apologize for my delay. Members of the magical community who are visiting this session today, I must also beg forgiveness of you."

He paused and looked briefly at the men and women seated to his right and left. Most were listening with rapt attention, though some were fidgeting in their seats and one rotund, elderly gentleman had his eyes closed in apparent deep thought, though Kingsley had a sneaking suspicion the man was asleep.

"We cannot ignore the reason why attendance at our session is so unusually high tonight. Yes, the recent legislation regarding Muggle Welfare is very important. Indeed," he drew a deep breath. "its path from conception to this chamber may be one of the bloodiest in the history of the Wizengamot.

"But," he chose his words carefully. "I ask that we put this legislation aside for the moment, as well as any other legislation we are considering, including the bill on Wizard Empiricism proposed by Mr. Crokshine."

A goblin in the middle of a stand near the door gave an audible groan.

"Many of you must no doubt be wondering as to the lateness of my arrival and to the disheveled state of my appearance. When you go home this evening, you will, most likely, hear a report on the wizarding wireless, or perhaps read a special edition of the _Prophet _or the _Hierophant._ Because you have been in this chamber for the past hour, and Mr. Murston, as is the protocol established by this body at its inception, locked the dungeon and allowed none to enter or leave, you have been isolated from the world at large.

"It is with regret that I tell you that our kind have suffered a trauma unequal in our history since the darkest days of the Second Wizarding War."

The jam packed courtroom was rapt with attention now. The few who had been restless were no longer so; the sleeping wizard had started with a grunt and now hung on Kingsley's every word.

"This evening, at approximately six-thirty seven MST, a large group of our - wizarding - children were playing in a Shropshire field near Oswestry. This area of the country has always had an unusually high amount of magical activity and is considered 'safe', as it were.

"With the greatest sorrow, I must report to you, my fellow Wizengamot members, and members of the wizarding community, that twelve children, twelve innocent children," - he dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief - "have been slaughtered. All but one of them were from magical families, and all of them are victims of a heinous crime. The weapon was of Muggle origin, though the perpetrator is unknown at this time. The children died because of exposure to a blast, caused by a particular powerful instance of what the Muggles call a 'frag grenade'".

This announcement was met with shocked gasps and murmurs.

"As Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, I am ending this session, long as it has already run. Go home to your families. Please avoid wandering into non-magical areas alone, and especially do not send your children outside of an area you consider safe."

Without another word, Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped down from the podium, and around him the room erupted in panic.

Darkness had fallen on the Irish coast. Millions of stars flickered in the sky above, and the autumn breeze whistled through the strands of grass. The old farmhouse still stood, for all the world as abandoned as it ever been, until a tall blonde man emerged from its entrance. Covered in soot and grime, Draco Malfoy bore a look of frustation, and mumbled phrases of hard effort gone to seed. Sweat dripped from his brow, and he started walking toward the edge of the cliff. Reaching inside his robe, he pulled out a small brown bag. The bag appeared plain, except for a faint red light emanating from inside it. With a grunt, he hurled it into the sea.

End of chapter two

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	3. A Trip to St Mungo's

All characters and references are the property of J.K. Rowling, unless invented by me.

Chapter Three

"Get up, Draco."

With a grunt, Draco Malfoy looked up from his bed. His wife, Astoria, was already fully dressed. He looked at the clock.

"Four o'clock? Wuzgoinon?" He pulled the blanket over his head. He quite enjoyed sleeping in on Saturday mornings, his work at the ministry taxing him like it did.

Astoria's voice magnified. "Get up, get up, Draco!"

"Okay! Merlin's beard..."

He grabbed a shirt from his trunk at the foot of his bed, and threw his work robe on over it.

"So why are we up at this unholy hour again?" he asked with some annoyance.

"Georgia Nott just sent an owl. There's been an attack on wizarding children somewhere in Shropshire, and their son Tarhunt is among the injured. I said we'd apparate to St. Mungo's as soon as possible." She placed a slightly shaking hand on her forehead.

Draco shivered. He couldn't imagine how he'd react if his son, Scorpius, was attacked; he was already accused good-naturedly by the other Hogwarts parents of being too protective. Hogwarts... it was a good job Scorpius had just started there that autumn. If not, given that the Malfoys and Notts were good friends, he could easily imagine Scorpius playing with Tarhunt in the field of the village. It was, after all, coming up to the holidays... he shuddered again.

Astoria cleared her throat and looked at the ancient grandfather clock in the corner.

"Okay, we're going to leave, but please, Draco, put some proper trousers on."

Draco looked down with surprise. He had not, in truth, even remembered he was still wearing his pyjama pants. He ran into the closet and ran back out.

"Ready?" Astoria stuck her arm out.

"Yeah." Draco grabbed it tightly.

With a wrenching sensation in his stomach, they were gone.

As usual, the façade of St. Mungo's Hospital appeared deserted, though a large number of people in odd-looking clothing walked by, stopped in front, and disappeared without the ordinary Muggles noticing, albeit there were few of them in the pre-dawn darkness. Draco and Astoria Malfoy, having apparated into a nearby alley, now made their way to the "storefront".

"We're here to see Tarhunt Nott.."

The mannequin in the store window gave a slow nod, then:

"Welcome to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Please step inside."

Draco stepped through the window first, then helped Astoria through. Inside, the desertion of the storefront found its polar opposite. The lobby was jam-packed. Draco recognised several families that had children at Hogwarts, mulling about. He also noticed several aurors and several MLEPers, presumably to interview witnesses or to provide added security. He saw with some annoyance that a few _Prophet _reporters were badgering the families.

Draco walked over to the nurse sitting behind the desk near the stairwell.

"Hello, can you tell me wh..."

"The children are in a special ward on the third floor - normally Potions and Plant Poisonings."

"Er, thanks."

The Malfoys walked over to the stairwell, then stopped and allowed a large, sullen looking family with three children to pass by.

"The Westwells.." Astoria whispered, "Two of theirs are in here, and neither one looks promising, I've heard.."

Draco interrupted her. "Hang on. Exactly how many kids were in that accident? The _Prophet _said there were only 12 of them, and they all died..."

"Sure, the deaths. But Georgia said there were six survivors, and they haven't released their information to the press for their own safety," said Astoria. "Right, well, looks like we're on the right floor..."

The dimly lit hallway had several doors, all marked _private, _except for one: _Temporary ward: Oswestry Victims. _When they went in, each bed was surrounded by curtains. Near one of them, they saw a tall, dark haired, rabbit-like man: Theodore Nott.

"Ted, how is he?" asked Astoria.

"He's still unconcious, has been since yesterday. But he's not gotten worse, so... Draco, haven't you been called to duty yet?"

"No, I haven't, Ted, and I'm surprised. Though they might have tried to contact me by Floo since we left, that was 20 minutes ago..." Just as Draco said this, a frazzle-haired teenager in the aquamarine robes of a healer-in-training walked into the room.

"Mr. Malfoy, I have a letter for you from Postal. It's from the ministry, so I thought I'd bring it up to you."

"Thank you." Draco opened the letter.

Draco Malfoy,

As I'm sure you've heard, we need everyone to come in, even those in non-law enforcement roles. The ministry is stretched quite thin, and we need all the help we can get. The Minister has a large crowd of protestors outside the consul at Hogsmeade. Make your way to the ministry as soon as possible. Thank you.

Charles Murston,

Assistant Head, Magical Law Enforcement Patrol

End of Chapter Three

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	4. The Fourth Estate

All characters and references are the property of J.K. Rowling, unless invented by me.

I know all twelve of you who have been following this story from the beginning must be vaguely curious about Draco's actions in the first chapter. Don't worry, it will come into play soon enough :)

Chapter Four

A freezing hard rain pounded the streets of Whitehall, battering Muggle workers taking advantage of their lunch break. Several crowded restaurants and pubs were clustered together on the corner, though one was noticeably less crowded. In fact, many of the Muggles seemed not to notice the building with the rusted metal wizard above it, his feet bound in iron and his hands hanging above him.

Draco walked in, took notice of several witches and wizards sitting by the window, then picked out a booth near the wall away from the door. He sat down and put his head in his hands.

The barmaid, a young woman in red robes, welcomed him to the Shackled Wizard. He ordered a hot tea with milk and sugar and declined her offer to show him the food menu. As she walked away, he continued to look around the pub, and his gaze fell upon the group by the window he had noticed earlier. As he looked, one balding wizard with a pointed beard and green robes caught his eye. He looked quickly away and and pretended to fiddle with the wireless jukebox on his table. As he did so, he accidentally turned on _Sugar, Sugar, oh Dittany Dittany_ by Celestina Warbeck.

If he had been trying to divert attention from himself, he had failed miserably. Now everyone in the pub, including the group by the window, was staring at him, some indignantly.

"Hey, is that Draco Malfoy?" a woman sitting by the balding man called.

"Crap..." he muttered to himself.

* * *

Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey.

"Argh..."

With a grimace, Charlie tapped his Alarm with his wand. It was not a traditional alarm clock like many Muggles and Wizards alike had, but a unique one he had picked up in a shop in Diagon Alley several years before. It was meant to replicate a house elf, and shouted at him, which at this moment he was beginning to regret.

_6:30_

_I'll get up at 6:45._

He shut his eyes and in what seemed like an instant jolted awake again.

_6:45_

He silently pleaded with the clock for more time.

_No, no, no. I do not want to go to work today. Like I wanna stand in the rain with Minister Ageran talking to the press. Like I wanna field 400 questions from old witches in Dumbarton about how we're gonna 'stop the Muggles'. Urghhhh..._

_6:50_

He had to leave for the Ministry at seven.

Slowly, he forced himself out of bed, which was feeling particularly warm and toasty against the backdrop of rain pounding his window. After a quick shower, he grabbed a few slices of toast, threw on his rain cloak, walked outside, and Apparated.

* * *

"Ha Ha Ha! What? You're _kidding _me!"

Draco had just recounted a fairly humourous story about the time he had knocked a Gryffindor Beater off of his broom, to general amusement around the table. He was beginning to warm up to his companions. Since he had started at the Ministry three years before, he had mostly avoided spending time with his colleagues. The only people he counted as friends were Theodore Nott and other acquaintances from his Slytherin days. He was learning, though, that some people at the ministry were decent, and like him, didn't hold with some of the rubbish that was going on in the wizarding world.

"Twelve o'clock? Time to head back to work, I guess."

The others murmured their agreement. There was Sixtus Semper, the balding one, who worked in the Office of Press Relations in the Central Department and was in Slytherin. There was Junie l'Ostrevant, an Auror who was in Ravenclaw. She was the one who had spotted him, though he didn't recollect ever meeting her before. Draco didn't catch the name of the other wizard, who didn't talk much.

He threw five galleons on the table and swept out of the room with the others. As they left the pub, though, he could already see a large crowd assembled outside of the ministry.

"Damn it, I forgot about the press conference today..." Draco swore.

"I forgot about it too," said Sixtus. "Otherwise, I would have been there already..."

All four in the group retrieved their Ministry badges and pushed their way through the crowd. Junie and the unknown man went into the building.

Draco and Sixtus were met with an angry Charlie Murston.

"Where have you lot been? The Minister needed your notes, Sixtus, that you said you would have for him at one thirty and it's two now!"

Sixtus looked down. "Sorry, Charlie, I have them right here." They were promptly snatched away.

The minister cleared his throat.

"Sorry for that..." he looked accusingly at Sixtus. "slight delay." Sixtus flushed.

He gave a speech giving the news that there was no news to report.

Charlie stepped to the podium.

"The minister is now prepared to offer a short fifteen-minute question session. Daily Prophet, you're up."

A stocky woman with red hair was handed a microphone. Her voice bounced around the hall they were all standing in.

"Some say your wizard protection laws in places like Godric's Hollow and Oswestry don't go far enough. They say it doesn't provide protection for magical folk in largely non-magical communities, where the majority of us live. What answer do you have for them?"

"I say to them that they should rely upon local magical enforcement, which outside of the very rare circumstance we have just experienced with the poor children, has been more than adequate in ensuring our safety."

"You call eleven dead children..."

"Twelve, one of them was a muggle."

"...more than adequate?" The Prophet reporter's head, barely visible in the crowd, was bobbing angrily. Several members of the crowd muttered their agreement.

The minister wiped his brow.

"Again, that was a very special circumstance... they were children who had wandered into a dangerous situation..."

Now a tall man in the front raised his voice.

"What, you're saying the ministry isn't responsible for the safety of magical children? Is that it?

The minister grew flustered.

"Well, maybe the ministry realises that you people are wizards and should be capable of defending yourself against Muggles."

The crowd gasped and fell silent.

The Prophet reporter, still clutching the microphone, spoke again.

"They were just children..."

Without another word, Blion Ageran stepped off the podium, turned, and swept away. Draco, Sixtus, and the rest of the Minister's contingent followed him, though Charlie remained behind and his voice could be heard in the distance.

"I'm afraid that's all the time the minister has for questions, but feel free to contact your local Ministry Liaison..."


End file.

Harry Potter, Fantasy