Chapter Text
- I’ll Scratch Your Back If You Scratch Mine.
The reunion happened in a suite at Bertram’s Hotel.
Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore tasted his scone with a generous serving of raspberry jam; his bright blue eyes thoughtfully studying the extremely young woman elegantly sitting across the coffee table, her own eyes quite similar to the wizard’s.
With the taste of the homemade jam lingering on his lips, he continued their conversation. “I always consider every possible idea, even the most ridiculous, far-fetched ones. Among my more ordinary ideas, there was hiring an Ability User as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.”
“Oh, I can imagine Fudge’s reaction.” The tone used by the woman, along with the eye-roll she accompanied the statement with, were clear indicator of her thoughts regarding the Minister of Magic.
Choosing a fig and orange and cream scone from the platter, she continued. “Such a shame, really; I have a couple of fitting candidates I can introduce you to.” After a satisfying bite of her pastry, she added: “They have very good chances against your subject’s curse, too.”
The old man sighed. “I would have been able to convince him before, but now…” Fudge would have rejected the proposal before he could even actually present it. And, after the last batch of the Daily Prophet, the Board of Governors would have demanded his renouncement, which Cornelius Fudge would have celebrated with a picnic, paid for by Lucius Malfoy.
And Lord Voldemort would have enjoyed the cake. Though it definitely wouldn’t be as good as these scones.
“You would have been able to convince him to hire a pig in a wig, and he would have thanked you for it.” The woman stated, taking a sip of her tea. “You still can.
“Though, if my sources are correct, that would be an improvement from the toad wrapped in a ribbon he actually assigned.”
“It hasn't been officially decided yet”, hummed Dumbledore.
“Officially”, repeated Christie with distaste. “We both know you are gaining time to hinder Fudge from seizing control over your school.”
Dumbledore took a moment to enjoy the aroma and flavour of his cup of lemon green tea.
“I must confess your proposition is quite appealing,” commented the man, setting his cup back on its plate. “However, I must confirm the situation by myself before taking a resolution.”
“I didn’t expect otherwise.”
Silence set comfortably as the pair took a moment to enjoy the meal before continuing their conversation.
“We have the support of the French Ministry: both the magical and non-magical”, informed Christie with a joyful tone. “It goes without saying that the British Muggle Minister has given full approval.”
“What’s the stance of the child’s guardian?” questioned the wizard.
“His boss,” corrected the Ability user. “He’s… interested.”
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows quizzically, but the woman didn’t elaborate.
He didn’t press; he would form his own opinion once he visited Yokohama.
“Is it certain that Paul Verlaine survived?” The headmaster questioned.
“No. As a matter of fact, everything points to him being dead”, stated the woman. “Nothing points to him being alive.”
A wrinkled hand wandered over the platter of scones before landing on one. “But you don’t believe so.”
“I have no evidence”, repeated Christie. “Just a hunch.”
A hunch…
No one who actually knew Agatha Christie would be stupid enough to disregard her opinions. Even her hunches.
Unlike most wizards, Albus Dumbledore was quite knowledgeable regarding Muggle affairs. Including Muggle affairs almost no Muggles nor Wizardkind were privy to; an advantage of having multiple connections among multiple spheres.
So, he knew about Paul Verlaine.
Including what had been of Paul Verlaine.
Or, more precisely, what the Inquiry that had investigated his time in Yokohama had concluded had been of Paul Verlaine.
And Dame Christie, without evidence, disagreed. And if there was even the most remote possibility of her being right, actions must be taken.
And actions had been taken, indeed.
The Order of the Clock Tower had a problem, just as the Order of the Phoenix. It was only natural for both of them to help each other out.
Paul Verlaine and Lord Voldemort were different kinds of threats, but threats nonetheless. And if both Orders could help each other out, the better.
Dumbledore mussed. Getting involved with Paul Verlaine was an extremely dangerous affair. More likely than not, lethal. Though it came with the promise of international magical, gifted, and even Muggle cooperation in the battle against Lord Voldemort. And as much as the United Kingdom's magical population thought otherwise, in the big scheme of things, Paul Verlaine presented a bigger threat than Voldemort. An (until Yokohama) unstoppable assassin, capable of fighting magic, abilities, and Muggle weaponry unscathed (at least until Yokohama); in possession of secrets that could cause the collapse of multiple governments and (as almost demonstrated in Yokohama) with the potential to destroy a whole city.
The idea of setting Ability Users as students to guard Harry was indeed attractive. Especially after the duel in the cemetery and the Dark Lord discovering that, even after having secured a counter against Lily’s sacrifice, he still lacked something more. The wizard expected Riddle to grow impatient as the months went on, and Harry showed no interest in claiming the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries. Having extra eyes looking after Harry in a way no one in the Order could would be rather useful.
Especially if the connection between his former and current students was as the old wizard suspected, and when Tom finally learned about it…
But the Headmaster was well aware of Verlaine's ruthlessness. It wouldn't do to keep Harry safe from Lord Voldemort while painting a target for the King of Assassins on his back.
Voldemort had his followers, brought to a Half-Blood under the pretence of a shared ideology of blood purity. For Voldemort, Death wasn’t a goal; it was a tool and the form his boggart would take.
Meanwhile, Verlaine hated all of humanity, without distinction. And for him, Death was a goal.
Agatha Christie was a sensible woman. Just as she considered the possibility of Verlaine being alive, she had considered the possibility of Voldemort having returned. Another reason to reach Dumbledore had been precisely for confirmation. Because Christie knew Fudge. And her opinion of the man was lower than the man’s opinion of her. The difference being that hers was built over her incredible capacity to judge one's character, while his was built over his undeserved opinion of his own value and his prejudice against anyone who wasn't a member of his own kind.
The complete refusal of the leader of the magical community to even entertain the idea of the Dark Lord’s return, on the basis that “he can’t come back”, was anything but reassuring; his utter dismissal of the danger embodied by the King of Assassins, laughable. So, Christie had decided to skip the unreasonable and appeal to reason.
And the Reason required to see and analyse the situation by himself. Which was perfectly reasonable, as expected.
Christie munched on her scone.
She was quite sure of the answer she would get after Dumbledore’s trip to Yokohama.
-o-o-o-
Dumbledore took a couple of days to enjoy the seaside city, prior to his meeting with the boss of the Port Mafia.
Though his definition of “making tourism” greatly differed from the common folk. While most people would use the time to visit tourist landmarks, the old educator visited places like the outskirts of Yokohama, where recently a train had suffered a fatal accident; the slums that made Suribachi City, and several stores and buildings that might or might not have any connections to organised crime.
Instead of taking pictures and collecting souvenirs, the man was gathering memories and thoughts.
Most proved to be useless. Sometimes he would catch a bit of information, but nothing outstanding. Nothing unexpected.
Any useful information would come from the higher rankers in the Mafia.
This proved true on the day of his first meeting.
He didn’t meet with the boss directly, not for the first reunion. Instead, he met with a grey-haired man sporting a monocle.
Hirotsu Ryurou had been commissioned by the boss of the Port Mafia as the direct contact with the wizard while the negotiations took place.
The plan had already been presented to the criminal organisation by Europole and the Order of the Clock Tower. The details and final agreement still had to be discussed with the Order of the Phoenix. If the magical organisation were to refuse, Christie would plan a different countermeasure in case of Verlaine's return.
While Dumbledore and Hirotsu had reviewed the plan through quite a few meetings, making observations, discussing, and sawing off details, the wizard had swiftly exerted Legilimency.
The wizard not only had learnt the Truth about Verlaine’s fate, but also had gotten rather significant intel regarding the youths around which everything revolved.
His interest had exponentially growth for way different reasons.
He had found the true reason Verlaine had targeted his ‘younger brother’.
Not to kill him.
The assumption the Europole had started with was wrong.
Doctor Wollstonecraft's creation had been unable to reveal the truth due to his programming, keeping every single piece of information discovered during the investigation a secret.
Agatha Christie’s intended bait was indeed the closest the King of Assassins had to an equal, but Verlaine hadn’t wanted to kill him.
The King had wanted his brother to join him. And the roles had been reversed, and it had been the Assassin who had joined the Mafioso in the end.
But there was something else… a face… a charming smirk and an eye clouded in a void of light…
Dumbledore mused about his findings as the negotiations progressed. When the time came to finally meet the head of the organisation, he was ready.
Now, in the Port Mafia’s headquarters, Dumbledore’s mind once again wandered through recollections and thoughts that weren’t his own. His gaze was set on the two finely tailored youths standing at either side of the desk in front of him.
He studied the shorter of the two boys.
Nakahara Chuuya.
The former Sheep King.
Dumbledore knew about the child's reputation before leaving England, courtesy of the Europole.
He knew about the problems he had previously caused to the Port Mafia. The murders he was responsible for.
He knew about the rumours surrounding his recruitment into his former enemy organisation. And since his arrival in Yokohama, he had been able to confirm the best and the worst of that and other tales.
Screening through blue eyes and into the passages of his mind had proven fruitless.
Flaming shadows, liquid darkness.
Screams of agony.
A roar proclaiming obliteration.
And woven between, shards of memories.
And the whisper…
The wizard didn’t dare to prod too much.
If Harry were to befriend the boy -and the amicable, though short-tempered disposition of the Ability user turned that into a quite high possibility for the Headmaster-, the Boy Who Lived would secure himself a fierce guardian.
The other boy, on the other hand...
Information about Chuuya before joining the mafia was reduced to his involvement with the Sheep and the knowledge of his unwilling participation in Project Arahabaki, being the latter a tightly kept secret. Europole had been unable to gather any intel regarding his first years, even less about his parents. And the Special Division for Unusual Powers had refused to release any more information they might have possessed.
The information regarding the other boy in the room, who was whispered to be a demon in a human body, was, somehow, even more scarce.
If Dazai Osamu was truly his real name was unknown.
Believed by some to be the secret son or grandson of the former boss; by others, a lucky or unfortunate find of the vicious madman. Some said the boy and the old man had only met a couple of times (if at all) before the lunatic’s demise; that it had been the now boss, Mori Ougai, who had introduced the boy to the dark world of the Mafia.
Dumbledore had had trouble confirming the veracity of any report until he had finally met the boss himself. Mori had been more difficult to read than Hirotsu; the man’s mind was a labyrinth of veiled half-truths and constructed lies. Living proof that Ability Users could be natural Occlumens.
Though lacking actual training, Dumbledore was able to unearth the actual cause of death of the doctor’s predecessor, and the role played by a teenager unwilling to live.
Any real doubts Dumbledore might still possess regarding Agatha Christie’s plan came from said teenager. But he also suspected that the woman had set him a trap, in the very form of said teenager.
Certainly, Christie must have known how he looked like…
The placid manners and soft smile that didn’t reach the eye, and the cold nothingness hiding behind them.
Looking at the boy, standing obediently at his boss’s right side, the Headmaster’s Legilimency had proven useless. However, the old wizard could still see a piece from his own mind; another young man sat at what today was his own office, calmly explaining to former Headmaster Dippet how he had tracked and confronted the one responsible for the attacks against Muggle-born students, having culminated in the death of one of them and the expulsion of an innocent.
Lighter hair, same dark brown eyes with a tint of crimson, quite similar handsome features…
A carefully crafted mask, well hidden.
The boy was dangerous. Everything Dumbledore had ever been could feel it.
Most wizards would discard his Ability without a second thought, not being capable of entertaining for a second the notion of their magic being nullified. Because there was no way No-Magic could ever be more powerful than Magic.
But Dumbledore knew better and understood the true terror such power represented.
Most wizards would be lost, destroyed by the sudden absence of their power.
Vulnerable...
Defenceless...
They would be confronted with true desperation.
A person immune to magic would be pretty much unstoppable in a society where casting spells was as natural as breathing.
A person immune to magic with an uncanny resemblance to Tom Marvolo Riddle…
Bringing such an individual to the world of wizardry was a high risk. A remedy potentially worse than the ailment.
Despite the lingering doubt nagging at his mind every time his eyes wander to the bandaged boy, Dumbledore had decided to follow onward with the Plan. Praying silently for this not to become his hugest mistake yet.
This was the last meeting with the Port Mafia to finalize the deal and settle the final touches. They were revisiting arrangements previously discussed, the main focus being to ensure the boys were clear and without a doubt regarding their mission and how to execute it.
The current point was explaining the way for them to communicate with their boss; specifically, for Chuuya to deliver reports, since Dazai had made it clear that the most the boss could expect from him would be doodles of the ginger's mangled corpse and ideas of how to achieve it.
"No phone?!" Chuuya appeared to have trouble grasping the concept.
Dazai drawled without missing a beat. "That won't make a difference for you, Chibi. It's not like you have an actual social life."
"I do have a social life!" The red-haired snarled. "Better than yours, obviously.
"Has the great Dazai thought that, if there is no phone, then there will be no video games?!"
The aforementioned sharply turned his head in the wizards' direction. "No..."
"I'm afraid electronic devices don't work in the lands of Hogwarts..." Dumbledore explained with an apologetic smile.
"And no alcohol," sighed Mori cheerfully. "It's a school, after all."
Both teenagers stared at their boss in abject horror.
The doctor sighed smugly. “Hadn’t I mentioned it before? My bad.”
"You cannot seriously expect me to agree to such conditions, Mori-san!" stated Dazai. "It’s inhumane! That's fine for a dog like Chuuya, who can be entertained by chasing his own tail or digging for bones in the ground, but someone like me, with a functional working brain, requires certain mental stimulation in order to avoid going absolutely insane!”
"How the fuck am I supposed to deal with this mackerel for months to end with no alcohol?!"
"Sounds like a perfect opportunity for you both to develop some healthy coping mechanisms”, commented the doctor, sighing as the two teens kept bickering at the injustice of it all.
"You are the cause of my alcoholism!”
"Oh, Chibi... I didn't know I had so much influence over you..."
The mafia boss set his elbows on his desk, crossed his fingers, resting his chin on them, bending forward slightly. His gaze focused on the wizard.
"Would you be interested in taking them sooner?"
Dumbledore observed the violent exchange among youngsters.
This could be a huge mistake. One, as he had never committed before.
He was tempted to back down then and there. To refuse to involve the boys in wizarding affairs and to never think of Yokohama again.
But if he had to use two young boys whose childhood and innocence were already tarnished to preserve Harry's for a few more months... so, be it.
-o-o-o-
Back at Bertram’s Hotel, Dumbledore and Christie took a moment to palate their respective scones and tea before talking business.
Christie was the first to talk:
“So, where are they keeping him?”
“The basement.” The wizard sighed, munching on his raspberry scone.
“His power…?”
“Diminished.”
The woman smiled in satisfaction before sipping her tea. “Did you like the tea from Japan?”
-o-o-o-
When Dame Christie informed Lord Alloway, Prime Minister of Muggles, about the rumours regarding the return of the darkest wizard of this generation, he wasn’t happy. Even more because his magical counterpart had neglected to inform him. The man thought that, as a show of basic respect, the Minister of Magic should have done so. He had calmed himself by thinking that maybe Fudge hadn’t wanted to alarm him before having all his ducks in a row, just like any politician who prides themselves on the job would do.
Once Christie confirmed the return of the Dark Lord (from a reliable source) and the fact that Fudge wasn’t even bothering to investigate the matter because it just wasn’t possible, the Muggle Minister did not feel bad at all about keeping the man and his horrid lime green bowler hat in the dark. The general disdain and condescension the wizard had shown to him and the rest of the non-magical people in each of their encounters so far had sown contempt. Fudge had made clear that he didn’t really care about Muggles, not more than a politician does after being done speaking about their stance regarding puppies to win over the public.
Those were the thoughts in Lord Alloway’s head as he observed green flames spurting in the empty grate beneath his marble mantelpiece. The sight of the man spinning within the flames would have usually alarmed him, but his anger drowned such emotion.
Fudge stood up, brushing away the ashes and soot clinging to his clothes; his face offered an expression of annoyance.
“Here I am. I shall let you know that I’m extremely busy; however, since you insisted so much in this meeting and stated it could not be postponed, I managed to open a space f-“
Fudge’s mouth closed.
He had just noticed the fact that the Muggle wasn’t alone.
HOW COULD THE PORTRAIT TASKED AS BOTH SENTINEL AND COMMUNICATION HAD FAILED TO INFORM HIM?!
He quickly scanned the people sitting around the conference table.
His tension gave up for just a second -a second- before raising back with a vengeance once he recognised the French Minister of Magic, Monsieur Fournier.
There was another man he didn’t recognise, a middle-aged man with dark hair salted with silver, sporting an expensive Muggle suit.
A deep frown set on the wizard’s forehead as his eyes fell on that damn girl and her ever-infuriating smile.
“Minister Fudge, I truly appreciate that you could join us”, greeted the Other Minister.
“I wasn’t informed of this reunion”, protested Fudge, trying to save face.
“Madame Christie?” inquired Lord Alloway.
“I informed Minister Fudge of this reunion two weeks ago”, stated Christie; her voice unperturbed, just as her godforsaken smile. “It was included in the inquiry’s report regarding Paul Verlaine and the events in Yokohama, Japan. Like everyone else’s.”
The report Fudge didn’t read.
And why would he?! Why would he need to know about some resourceful Muggle! That man was no wizard! Why should Fudge care?! Abilities were not true magic! They were nowhere close to the power, flexibility, and adaptability of spells and charms! Abilities were not even close to the bursts of accidental magic a small magical child would present any given day! That man everyone was so hung up about was no threat! Not to wizards!
Yet, the French Minister of Magic was right there, in that Muggle office… summoned by that unsufferable woman!
Fudge thought about calling Scrimgeour; the Auror was of the idea that the so-called “King of Assassins” was dangerous. He would know about this! Except that Fudge hadn’t shared the report with him. He couldn’t remember if he still had the damn paper lying somewhere in his office or if he had dumped it with the trash.
He was too busy controlling stuff and stopping the riot that Potter -the brat!- had been trying to initiate with his unfounded cries of… He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returning!
The Daily Prophet was likely right, and the killing curse had affected the boy’s mind.
Fudge’s attention returned to the present situation. He had already been late to a meeting, which he did not even know was being held. And it looked bad, at least regarding his French counterpart; the others in the room were inconsequential. Having his Head Auror come to his rescue would be humiliating.
The wizard racked his brain, trying to remember what he could about this Verlaine guy.
The Aurors who had partaken in the security surrounding the ill-fated coronation three years prior had been careless and neglectful. When asked why assigned such negligent people to work on the security of such an important ceremony, Fudge had washed his hands and blamed the lack of judgment of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Head Auror.
He knew that that ‘special’ Muggle had been causing trouble around, but it had been aimed at Muggles! Nothing to do with him!
The wizard was brought back from his musings by a steady voice with a slight accent:
“Since English is the native tongue of the majority of people present here, shall we conduct this meeting in English?” asked the man Fudge didn’t recognise.
“I agree, Monsieur President”, agreed Fournier.
“Je n’ai aucun problème avec aucune des deux langues“, said Christie, causing Fudge’s teeth to grit.
“It’s extremely gracious of you. Really appreciated”, nodded the British Minister. He looked at Fudge and gave an almost imperceptible nod towards an available seat with a bottle of water resting in front of it on the table. He waited until the wizard sat down before continuing. “So, as you know, the inquiry has concluded that Paul Verlaine, also known as the King of Assassins, died at the events which unfolded in Yokohama, Japan.
“Now, Madame Christie has pointed out the possibility of Verlaine having survived.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” The leader of the Order of the Clock Tower sighed. “He and his former partner were both presumed dead nine years ago, and both of them ended up being alive.”
The President of France, Monsieur Caux, released a dark chuckle. “That just shows the quality of our personnel.” He sighed. “Verlaine and Rimbaud were our greatest assets; we never expected them to defect!”
Fudge tried not to look confused.
Christie sighed with impatience. “Let’s recapitulate, shall we?” She proceeded to explain, her blue eyes fixed on Fudge as she fished some photographs from the folder set in front of her and put her cards on the table. “Twelve years ago, then Agent Paul Verlaine, from France’s DGSS, defeated a terrorist organisation and recovered an artificial skill-derived life-form known as Black No. 12.”
Fudge spoke before he could even think about refraining from speaking. “Wait! Artificial-skill…?”
“An improved human being created by artificial methods”, explained Christie. She touched her chin slightly, looking pensive. “As far as my knowledge reaches, wizards have never been able to create other human beings.”
“Your knowledge is right, Dame Christie”, nodded Fournier. “No wizard or witch has ever been able to recreate a human being. A human body, yes. But an actual living human being capable of thoughts and feelings? Not even the most talented and powerful of our kind came even close. It’s the soul, you know? The soul is impossible to recreate. Or at least that’s what I used to think until I met Paul Verlaine.”
Now Fudge looked openly confused.
“The then agent Verlaine gave his name over to Black No. 12 and adopted the name Arthur Rimbaud for himself”, explained President Fournier with a patient smile, making Fudge reddened.
“Black No. 12, now Paul Verlaine, was recruited by the DGSS Operations Division, Special Operations Command, and worked closely with Rimbaud for the next four years… Until they were sent to Japan. Their mission consisted of gathering information and, if possible, recovering or, if not possible, destroying a prototype created by replicating the same method that had led to Verlaine’s creation: the Arahabaki Project.
“It’s unknown what exactly happened, but the facts are that the military facility they were infiltrating blew up, leaving behind a crater of several kilometres in diameter.
“Everyone involved in the explosion was presumed dead. Until Verlaine resurfaced, months later, leaving in his wake a trail of cadavers and quickly earning the title of ‘King of Assassins’.
“Last year, it was discovered that his partner, Agent Rimbauld, had also survived the explosion. However, he suffered from amnesia and had been working for a Japanese criminal organisation -the Port Mafia- under the name ‘Rando’. It’s unknown what prompted Rimbaud to start recovering his memories, but he did, and he was set on completing his last mission.
“And he did.”
Christie added the picture of a redheaded teenager. “Nakahara Chuuya”, she announced. “The main test subject of Project Arahabaki. We don’t know where the Japanese Government got him, or if he was created in a laboratory just like Paul Verlaine. Regardless of his origin, the Japanese were successful in recreating Project Black and infused this young boy with enough power to rival his ‘older brother’.
“After the explosion of the Military Facility, Nakahara spent the next eight years as part of a gang called ‘The Sheep’: a self-defense group made by street kids trying to stay alive and escape from violent organisations, looting, and human trafficking. Nakahara was known in the streets as the ‘King of Sheep’. A year ago, once Rimbaud recovered his memories and betrayed the Port Mafia, he died when faced against Nakahara and a boy named Dazai Osamu.” Christie added a new picture to her collection. “Soon after, the Sheep were disbanded, and Nakahara and Dazai officially joined the ranks of the Mafia. “
She turned to Fudge. “Any questions so far?”
The man turned beet-red. “Of course not! I knew all this! I’ve read the report.”
The way his Muggle counterpart rolled his eyes at the asseveration went unnoticed.
“Excellent. Then we shall continue.” Christie returned her attention to the assembly. “A couple of months ago, news of this development reached Verlaine, causing him to set his attention on Yokohama and to target whom he perceived as his ‘younger brother’ and competition.
“Learning about this, the Europole sent Agent Adam Frankenstein to protect Nakahara and arrest, or permanently stop, Paul Verlaine.
“We could say that he succeeded in his mission, though almost all the credit falls on Nakahara and the Port Mafia, specifically Dazai Osamu’s plan. Though the details are unknown.”
“Oh? Is there something Miss Christie doesn’t know?” spat Fudge with ill-content animosity.
The woman smiled with pity. “Minister Fudge, as stated in the report of the Inquiry, Agent Frankenstein was programmed to maintain in the utmost secrecy any information he learned during the progression of the case.”
Fudge couldn’t stop his mouth. “Programmed…?”
“He is an android”, said Lord Alloway. “You know… An Artificial Intelligence created by Dr. Wollstonecraft… Wait… You don’t know who Dr. Wollstonecraft is, Minister Fudge?” The British Minister looked astounded, baffled by the lack of knowledge of his magical counterpart.
The man was really enjoying himself.
“Of course, I know who he is!” protested Fudge.
“She”, corrected Christie with a patronising smile. “Dr. Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin Shelley. She is an Ability User engineer. She is responsible for creating multiple inventions, most of which completely escape imagination.”
“I must confess I feel impressed by her creations”, admitted the French Minister of Magic. “Some of the things she’s created…” He shook his head in astonishment.
Fudge himself was astonished by a man in the same position of power as himself, a member of the same community, admitting to being impressed by the work of a Resourceful Muggle.
The scandal!
Agatha Christie didn’t pay him any attention. “Now that we are all aware of the antecedents, shall we discuss what has brought us here?
“The main plan, alternate plans, measures, and countermeasures were detailed in the inquiry report annex.” Christie paused, a sardonic smile slowly creeping on her face. “Could it be possible that Minister Fudge has trouble remembering that part…?”
“Of course, I remember!” spat the wizard, his face once again turning red, from indignation, ire, and embarrassment.
“Do you think you could also remember to send me a copy of the investigation regarding what happened at the Triwizard Tournament?” questioned Minister Fournier.
Fudge froze.
“I have yet to receive a copy of the investigation”, insisted the French wizard.
“Investigation?” stuttered the British.
The other man looked at him in a way that made Fudge reminisce about his days at Hogwarts, when a particularly bothersome essay had slipped his mind, and the professor had expected him to hand it in.
“Of course. A Portkey was activated in the middle of the Triwizard Tournament, leading to the death of a young man! Fortunately, Mademoiselle Delacour was unharmed! And there is only so much we can do with the information provided by Madame Maxime. We need your Head of Aurors’ report… Or who did you assign to investigate this regrettable occurrence?”
“I investigated the matter myself!” protested Fudge.
“You did?” Fournier raised an eyebrow. “Not to be disrespectful, Cornelius, but I would presume that you are, at the very least, as busy as I am. And I would never have the time to conduct a proper investigation in such a case. As a matter of fact, it wouldn’t be my job! I would have assigned someone way more capable than myself in the area to handle such a delicate matter! Especially with the sudden disappearance of Karkarov!”
Agatha Christie tilted her head in curiosity. “May I inquire as to how you conducted your investigation, Minister Fudge? As far as my knowledge goes, the only action that was taken was an attempt to interrogate the culprit. And I say ‘attempt’ since the man was kissed by a Dementor before you had the chance to interrogate him”, informed the woman. She explained casually to the non-magical attendants. “A monster the British Ministry of Magic uses to control Azkaban, the magic prison, devoured his soul.”
The Muggles stared at Fudge in horror.
“Are my sources correct, Cornelius?” questioned Fournier, a harsh edge on his voice. “Was the culprit a convicted felon who was presumed dead years ago but, in reality, escaped without anyone being the wiser?”
Fudge opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
“And was he responsible for his father’s death, Mr. Bartholomew Crouch, the previous Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation, respected member of the magical community, who years ago was expected to occupy the position you now hold?”
“Barty Crouch was the one responsible for his son escaping Azkaban! “ protested the English wizard.
“A man in a position of power is responsible for the actions of his subordinates, Fudge; not the other way around”, spat Lord Alloway in distaste.
Caux nodded in agreement. “If someone under my charge does something illegal, it falls on me to take responsibility and ensure the matter is properly dealt with. Unless wizards have different customs…?” He questioned his magical counterpart tentatively.
“Non, non. That’s exactly how I operate”, stated Fournier, looking at Fudge with clear distaste.
“Wait!” exclaimed the British Minister. “Was that thing… the Demented…?”
“Dementor”, corrected the French wizard helpfully.
“The Dementor…” repeated Alloway carefully. “Was the Dementor instructed to… devour that man’s soul?”
Fudge was outraged. “Of course not! What happened was but a regrettable accident! Dementors are usually quite reliable! They are the ones we entrust to watch over Azkaban, after all!”
“And you use a thing you can’t control to operate your prison?” blurted Lord Alloway.
“I assure you, the Ministry of Magic is in perfect control of the Dementors”, replied Fudge with indignation.
“Oh, so Barty Coruch Jr having his soul ripped out of his body was under the Magic Ministry’s instruction?” questioned Christie with obvious fake innocence.
“Of course not! As I said, that was a regrettable accident!” barked Fudge.
“An accident that happened just in front of the head of the British wizarding society”, nodded the Ability User. “Well”, she sighed, “I guess due to the current situation in Wizardry Britain, that Hogwarts is out of question.”
“Beauxbatons is it, then!” stated the French Minister of Magic, clapping his hands with enthusiasm.
“Wait! Out of the question for what?!” panicked Fudge.
“Really, Minister Fudge, it seems like you didn’t even read the report!” Christie commented jovially. “A part of the plan was to take advantage of Hogwarts’ untraceable status to set a trap for Verlaine.”
“Madame Christie has proposed to safeguard Nakahara and Dazai at Hogwarts. However, I have expressed my doubts”, answered Fournier. “After what happened at the Triwizard Tournament, and what we have just learned regarding your Ministry’s management of the situation, I don’t think you have what is needed to… handle such a delicate matter.
“I have proposed to use Beauxbatons instead, though, due to the nexus between Verlaine and France, it does pose some concerns for the International Confederation of Wizards and the Europole”, continued explaining the French Minister of Magic. “But, what other option do we have? With Karkarov’s disappearance, Durmstrang is a dumpster on fire. And Hogwarts…” The wizard shrugged.
Fudge fell for the taunt.
“Hogwarts is the safest place on Earth!” He was burning with indignation. “I assure you that we are more than capable of keeping two Muggle boys safe!”
“Ability Users”, corrected Dame Christie. “One of which is likely the most powerful Ability User in the world… as long as his brother is indeed dead.
“The other one… I believe I would find it entertaining playing a match of chess against him.”
The three men who were aware of her intelligence shuddered.
“Of course, of course”, responded Fudge with the same tone as if saying ‘potato, potato’.
“Maybe Minister Fudge has yet to understand how dangerous Verlaine is…” suggested Lord Alloway.
“I’m perfectly aware, thank you very much!” hissed the wizard.
The audience concluded that he did not.
“We’ll take charge of the boys”, announced Fudge, his tone giving no space to arguing. “One of my best witches will be teaching the Defence Against the Dark Arts class this school year! Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister! She will personally take care of looking after the boys!”
“You are sending your undersecretary to work at a school?” asked Lord Alloway.
Fudge coughed. “We have a shortage of capable people to teach that particular subject. And the youth must come first! They are the future after all! With that in mind, I have no choice but to part with Miss Umbridge’s very capable hands!”
The Frenchmen exchanged a look. The Muggle one raised an eyebrow in a suggestive gesture.
The magical one, who had met the woman, seemed about to puke.
“Oh, I’ve heard about Umbridge.” Christie hummed. “I don’t think she would be the best choice for the job… Isn’t she prejudiced against non-human people?”
“Non-human people?” repeated Fudge in confusion.
Christie nodded. “Centaurs, vampires, merfolk, goblins…
“In my experience, wizards and witches who are prejudiced against non-human people tend to see non-magical humans as a different species… In general, they treat everyone who isn’t a wizard as less. Even wizards and witches born to Muggles!
“Though their attitude towards Ability Users is even worse”, stated Christie with disgust.
“So, our equivalent would be racism?” questioned Alloway, giving Fudge a judgmental glare.
The French Minister of Magic intervened. “I assure you, Dame Christie, that that is not the case with all wizard kind. Only those truly ignorant, undeserving of their wands, would possess such ideology!
“One of the best witches I have ever known is half human. Even you, Madame, would struggle to find anyone more capable and reliable than her!”
“Of course, I didn’t mean you, Monsieur. You are quite a sensible and capable man. Your actions speak volumes for yourself!”
The French wizard beamed at the praise. Fudge had the expression of having just suck on a lemon.
“I assure you that Umbridge is remarkably capable and reliable! She’ll ensure that the boys are safe! She’s quite an intelligent woman! She would never have those prejudices you are talking about! I’m offended that there exist people willing to defame her like that!”
Fournier rolled his eyes. As previously mentioned, he had met the woman. Even worse, he had experienced the tribulation of speaking to her!
Defamation, his ass!
“Then it is set!” Christie clapped her hands in satisfaction. “Nakahara and Dazai will be attending Hogwarts! I shall pay a visit to Auror Scrimgeour and Professor Dumbledore to discuss the details!”
Fudge’s mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water. He stared at the woman while his mind replayed the last bits of conversation, and the understanding of what he had just agreed to dawned on him.
“Excellent!” He stuttered, standing up, and fumbling with his hat. “If there is nothing else you want to discuss with me, I shall take my leave. As I’ve said, I’m terribly busy.”
Without waiting for an answer, the man marched to the fireplace and disappeared among green flames.
Lord Alloway, the British Prime Minister of Muggles, almost applauded.
Dame Christie bowed her head slightly, accepting the mute hail.
Such a marvellous choreography!
-o-o-o-
Rufus Scrimgeour made his distaste known.
“The matter has already been decided,” stated Fudge. “The Muggle boys will be attending Hogwarts, and it’s final!”
“Ability Users”, corrected Scrimgeour through clenched teeth. “One of which is Paul Verlaine’s little brother.
“Both of them are high-ranking members of a criminal organisation!”
“A Muggle criminal organization”, corrected Fudge, as if that made any difference. Because, to him, it did.
“YOU LET THE MUGGLE MINISTER AND AGATHA CHRISTIE TRICKED YOU INTO BECOMING THE KING OF ASSASSIN’S BAIT!” roared the Auror.
Fudge stood up and slammed his desk. “WATCH YOUR TONE, SCRIMGEOUR! I AM THE MINISTER OF MAGIC, AND I WON’T ALLOW ONE OF MY SUBALTERNS TO SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT! IN MY OWN OFFICE NONETHELESS!”
Scrimgeour forced himself to breathe and have happy thoughts. The image of his hands around Fudge’s throat was patronus’ material.
“You do not understand what you have agreed to! You have to take it back! Refuse!
“You have no idea the kind of monster Paul Verlaine is!”
Fudge scoffed. “He is a Muggle!” The wizard smiled, pleased. “Was a Muggle.”
“Paul Verlaine…” spoke the Auror, “is no Muggle. He is not even human!
“He is a monster.”
The Minister rolled his eyes. “We are wizards! Even if he is alive, we can handle him!”
Scrimgeour gritted his teeth.
“Three years ago, I lost some of my most capable Aurors at the hands of that monster…”
Fudge scoffed. “The coronation… I've told you before, and I'm telling you again: they were drunk! It was a celebration! Of course, they took the chance to relax and enjoy the party!”
“Two of them were in the groups responsible for apprehending both Sirius Black and the Lestranges!” retorted the Auror. “And I remind you that three years ago, we were dealing with the Chamber of Secrets being reopened and those attacks on the Muggle-born kids! There was a high chance that some retired Death Eater could have attempted to make a statement at the coronation. They were professionals! They would have never let their guard down!”
“So, what? A Muggle with a single spell managed to best the elites of wizarding Britain? Is that what you are implying, Scrimgeour?” spat the Minister.
“That's your mistake, Fudge”, hissed the man. “You failed to see. Ability Users are not Muggles! They are not wizards either! They are something else. They are dangerous! Some of their so-called Abilities exceed our powers by far! The principles and properties that rule magic don't apply to them!
“And Verlaine is the worst of them! He even rivals He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!”
Fudge stared at him, aghast.
“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?! IS THERE SOMETHING IN THE WATER WHICH HAS MADE YOU, DUMBLEDORE AND POTTER GO ABSOLUTELY INSANE?!” The shriek seemed to summon characters back to their portraits and awaken those who slept.
“Did you see the state of their bodies, Fudge?” Scrimgeour questioned softly. “I did. Their bones were shattered. Pulverised. There wasn't a single external lesion. Their inner organs were mostly fine too… It was just their bones… Their organs tried to keep functioning… but they were compressed by the muscle and fat.”
Scrimgeour let himself fall into the chair in front of the Minister's desk. His face, completely drained of colour, was hidden behind trembling hands. “Their faces… their skulls were pulverised too… The Healers who examined the bodies said… that…” The Auror stopped. He breathed deep and forced the words caught in his mouth. “The pain they went through, Cornelius… it was worse than anything the Cruciatus curse could have ever caused…”
The wizard raised his wand and made a glass of Firewhisky appear in his hand. He emptied its contents in one gulp. He lowered the empty glass and stared at the Minister’s eyes, directly to his soul. “That's a horrible way to go. I would rather be hit by the Killing curse any given day than go through that”, said Scrimgeour with a haunted voice, his throat burning thanks to the alcohol. “And that isn't his only method… Bodies shredded, dismembered, imploded, cut in half, crushed, impaled… That monster doesn't lack imagination…
“And you are not only calling him to our doors, but bringing a boy who not only could stop that monster in his wake, but who was capable of fighting back against him and even winning…” Scrimgeour smiled, a smile that showed all his teeth and his disdain. “And you are putting the monster’s brother with our children!” He spat the last words with ill-repressed anger.
Fudge stared at him. “They are just children! I mean… look at them!” He fished the pages of the report with the pictures of the two Japanese teens who would inhabit Hogwarts for the next months and pushed them towards Scrimgeour. “This would help reassure the public and keep the peace… If He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had truly returned, I would never dare to bring resourceful Muggles into Hogwarts! Can you imagine?”
Fudge frowned. Scrimgeour wasn't paying attention to him. His eyes were fixed on the pictures. More precisely, they were fixed on the picture of the bandaged boy, the one who wasn't the Monster's brother.
His lips finally opened and a single sound came out:
“Oh…”
Fudge grunted with impatience. “Now what?”
Scrimgeour pulled his gaze from the picture. “This boy looks exactly like…” He fell silent. He started again. "This boy looks exactly like who we think used to be He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named… before…”
“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!”
It must be a joke. It had to be. Or maybe he had misheard. There was no way!
“You must have seen the pictures… You have the file!” claimed the Auror.
Fudge did have the file… but he had never even touched it, too afraid of the possibility of a curse befalling him.
Scrimgeour must have guessed it because the next second, his wand was gliding through the air.
“Accio Tom Riddle's file!” intoned the Auror.
A lustrous wooden box came flying into his hands from the highest level of the further bookshelf.
“Open it”, whispered the Auror, staring at his boss.
“No.” Fudge was trembling. “There's absolutely no need for that. Who cares if some random Muggle from Japan looks like…” He stopped himself. “Are we truly positive, without a doubt, that To- this person, became… Doesn't this information come from Dumbledore? Can we truly trust anything that comes from that man's mouth? What if he just accused a student he disliked?”
“Open. The damn. Box.”
Fudge’s lips shivered. He buffed and touched the tip of his wand to the box.
Intricate symbols and lines glowed through the box's surface before the lid popped open.
Inside lay a slim package of papers, old parchment, and photos. Scrimgeour took the documents and sorted them until he found a picture. He carefully took the picture and set it on the table, beside the image of one Dazai Osamu.
Put side by side, the effect was beyond eerie.
One static Muggle picture of a bandaged boy with an apathetic expression.
One magical animated picture of a young man with a charming smile.
Similar hair, same nose, same ears. The shape of the face was pretty much the same. The cheeks… The mouth…
Even the eyes were similar… a rusty brown, leading to auburn. Though where two eyes sparked with ambition, one lonely eye was a pool of darkness.
“But, there's no evidence that this is truly him, is there? Just Dumbledore’s word!” protested Fudge with despair.
“Dumbledore's word used to be good enough", stated Scrimgeour drily.
“He cannot come back!” Fudge yelled in desperation. “He cannot!”
On his desk, the Tom Riddle, trapped out of time, smirked.
Both men jumped when the silence was broken by the knocking on the door.
Scrimgeour gave Fudge a warning look to ignore whoever was outside and focused on the matter of hand. Fudge, desperate for an excuse to not have to deal with the matter of hand, pointed to the door with his wand and cast an Alohomora.
The toad-like face of Dolores Umbridge appeared in the threshold, in all her pink glory.
“I'm so deeply sorry to interrupt such an important meeting, Minister Fudge. I trust you are aware I would never do such a thing without a reason… I thought you would like to know immediately…
“Of course, of course…” nodded the wizard, throwing the contents of the box back to their confinement, not caring that the pictures of the Muggle boys were included. “I trust in your good judgement, Miss Umbridge.
The batrachian of a woman smiled at the compliment, pleased.
“It so happens that Harry Potter has used magic in front of a Muggle”, announced the witch.