Raised By Wolfstar: Slytherin Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows

Chapter Twelve: The Muggle-born Registration Commission

'Ah, Mafalda!' said Umbridge, looking at Allison. 'Travers sent you, did he?'

'Er-yes,' said Allison, entering actor mode.

'Good, you'll do perfectly well,' Umbridge spoke to the wizard in black and gold. 'That's that problem solved, Minister, if Mafalda can be spared for record-keeping we shall be able to start straightaway,' she consulted her clipboard. 'Ten people today and one of them the wife of a Ministry employee!! Tut, tut...even here, in the heart of the Ministry! Ms Wakefield, did you have anything to do Mrs Cattermole getting caught?'

'Um-a little,' said Tracey, very hesitantly.

'Then I insist you come too,' said Umbridge cheerfully. 'Although since you're applying to testify against the accused late you'll have to wait until the main arguments have already been made for and against.'

She stepped into the lift beside Allison, as did the two wizards who had been listening to Umbridge's conversation with the Minister.

'We'll go straight down, Mafalda, and you'll find everything you need in the courtroom,' she then spotted Harry. 'Good morning, Albert, aren't you getting out?'

'Yes, of course,' said Harry in Mr Runcorn's deep voice.

Harry stepped out of the lift. The golden grilles clanged shut behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, Harry saw his best friend and girlfriend sinking back out of sight, trapped with one of, if not the most, evil women Harry knew.

'What brings you up here, Runcorn?' asked the new Minister of Magic. His long black hair and beard were streaked with silver, and a great overhanging forehead shadowed his glinting eyes, putting Harry in mind of a crab looking out from beneath a rock.

'Needed a quick word with,' Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second, 'Arthur Weasley. Someone said he was up on level one.'

'Ah,' said Pius Thickness. 'Has he been caught having contact with an Undesirable?'

'No,' said Harry, his throat dry. 'No, nothing like that.'

'Ah, well. It's only a matter of time,' said Thicknesse. 'If you ask me, the blood traitors are as bad as the Mudbloods. Good day, Runcorn.'

'Good day, Minister.'

Harry watched Thicknesse march away along the thickly carpeted corridor. The moment the Minister had passed out of sight, Harry tugged the Invisibility Cloak out from under his heavy black cloak, threw it over himself, and set off along the corridor in the opposite direction. Allison's father was so tall that Harry was forced to stoop to make sure his big feet were hidden.

Panic pulsed in the pit of his stomach. As he passed gleaming wooden door after gleaming wooden door, each bearing a small plaque with the owner's name and occupation upon it, the might of the Ministry, its complexity, its impenetrability, seemed to force itself upon him so that the plan he had been carefully concocting with his friends over the past four weeks seemed laughably childish. They had concentrated all their efforts on getting inside without being detected. They had not given a moment's thought to what they would do if they were forced to separate. Now Allison was stuck in court proceedings, and Tracey now had to potentially doom a Muggle-born or risk getting caught, which both would undoubtedly last hours; Theodore had to find a floor he had never been to and do some potentially complicated magic, and all three of their actions effected an innocent woman's liberty; and he, Harry, disguised as his girlfriend's evil father, was wandering around on the top floor when he knew perfectly well that has quarry had just gone down in the lift.

He stopped walking, leaned against a wall, and tried to decide what to do. The silence pressed upon him: There was no bustling or talk or swift footsteps here; the purple-carpeted corridors were as hushed as though the Muffliato charm had been cast over the place.