Master of Death, Lover Witches

With a great crack, nothing appeared inside a mediocrely lit hall inside the Ministry's bowels.

Technically what appeared was one Harry Potter, his trusty Muggle mask in his hands and an invisibility cloak wrapped around his frame. But owing to the cloak, nothing is what any passing person would have seen, had they been present and attentive.

In this instance, the hallway was quite empty though. It had brick walls and a smooth, well-mortared floor that reflected what light there was. A window on the wall looked out on a pleasant night with a clear sky. A lie, of course. This was the Ministry of Magic. Deep beneath the ground, any window was simply a clever charm on an ordinary pane of glass.

From what he remembered from his past lives, Harry decided that he was on Level 3: the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. The destination itself wasn't what he was looking for, but who was here.

Catching voices from the other side of a nearby door, Harry crept forward.

"Please, Mrs. Malfoy, I just need to know if there were any side effects—"

The young-ish, slightly awkward voice was cut off by a mature woman's, speaking much louder.

"Why are we being questioned? Is this what the ministry has come to? I demand to know where my husband's donations have been going! You ought to be out catching the cretin who did this!"

"I understand your distress—"

"Like Merlin you do! Get out, before I have my husband fire you!"

Harry heard the male voice pause.

"But your husband doesn't work in the ministry."

"You see if that stops him," said Narcissa with an audible sneer.

There was another pause, then the scrape of a chair being pushed back. Footsteps approached. The door opened, revealing a man likely a decade older than Harry himself with a strained look on his face. Harry slipped around the ministry wizard while the door was open, entering the room.

The space he found himself in awoke ancient memories Harry honestly thought he'd forgotten, all the way back to his first childhood with the Dursleys. It gave off the distinct impression of the waiting room inside to a Muggle hospital. 

It was all very sterile, perhaps that was it. The walls and floor were both white. Cheap, moderately comfortable chairs were gathered up behind a wide table suited to interviews or interrogations, depending on the mood. At the far side, Narcissa Malfoy sat up straight in fresh robes, her fingers woven together on the table. Her son sat next to her. Draco was glaring at the floor as if it were the linoleum's fault the whole world knew how unendowed he was. On the close side of the table, a smattering of ministry workers sat on wooden chairs, four in total. Among them was a familiar face.

Arthur Weasley was doing a remarkable job keeping his face neutral as he sat opposite the wife and son of the only man Harry had ever seen make him lose composure. Weasleys and Malfoys mixed like Incendio charms and piles of paperwork.

Invisible to the room, Harry removed the tracking charm he'd covertly cast on Draco the night before. If things went well, he would be wasting his time here. But he'd dealt the Malfoys a major blow at the World Cup's 'after party' and so he was going to play it safe. If there was one thing he knew about this family, it was that they always tried something whenever they were upset.

Right on queue, the door behind Harry hurled open so fast that the handle left a crack in the wall. Lucius Malfoy stepped inside with the severest of expressions.

"Shall we start this farce in earnest?" he said.

He marched directly to one of the seats on the ministry side, sitting down.

"Sir," said one of the officials, "for interviews like this, those seats are supposed to be for ministry personnel only—"

Lucius just looked at him. He raised one eyebrow. The man clammed up in an instant.

"Allow me to lay things out," said Lucius, "so that we can all acknowledge where we are right now, and you can understand exactly how ridiculous it is. Last night, while I engaged in festivities with friends — where a great many people laid eyes on me — a madman invaded my tent and abducted my wife and young son. That madman proceeded to publicly humiliate them… while countless ministry officials looked on and did nothing. Only when it was over did they step in. And what do they do at that point? They arrest the victims."

Lucius looked over the room, daring any officials to disagree. Only one did.

"Nobody has been arrested, Lucius," said Arthur Weasley. "And the officials didn't act because they were worried for your family's safety. It's the same reason they hadn't got Mr. and Mrs. Roberts down."

"So my family is the same as some Muggles to you, Weasley?"

"Yes, they are," said Arthur.

Another ministry official hastily cleared his throat.

"What he says is true. About the arrests, I mean! Or lack of. What I'm saying is that there are no charges against your wife or son, and they're only here for their own benefit."

"Against their will," Lucius added.

"It's standard procedure to inspect them!" protested the poor wizard. "We just needed to know there were no adverse side effects."

"What is your name?" asked Lucius.

Looking like he rather didn't want to, the man said, "It's Bentley Macmillan, sir."

"And are you in charge here, Bentley?"

"I am, yes, sir."

"Not for much longer," Lucius declared.

"Now see here," said Arthur Weasley suddenly, putting his weight forward in his seat. "You can't just go about threatening the junior head of a department in his own office!"

"You can't," said Lucius. "You'll find that I have quite enough authority to get away with it."

The ministry officials flinched as one as he said 'authority,' hearing the word for what it really meant: money. And as if summoned by the very implication of bribes, the door swung open again and admitted a very pale Cornelius Fudge.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded the minister, striding in with John Dawlish and Kingsley Shacklebolt at his back. "Do you have any idea how busy I am? And then I get news of you lot detaining peaceful citizens!"

"Minister, it's basic procedure!" protested Bentley Macmillan.

"I got my start in this division!" Fudge said. "I think I would know if such a thing existed—"

"Section 7B, on page twenty-seven: Any victims subjected to unknown magic of the propulsive, resizing, or transformative natures are to be interviewed thoroughly after the fact by professional personnel, in case of complications," recited Bentley Macmillan. "You added that passage in your own tenure."

"Well it… I…" His small brain quickly overtaxing itself, Fudge turned quickly to the blond man sitting at the table. "What's really going on here, Lucius?"

From his invisible vantage, Harry had a fantastic view of the entire room, along with the reactions of various wizards in it. One of the ministry workers gaped. Shacklebolt shook his head slightly. But Lucius? He smirked, directly at Bentley Macmillan, then adopted a thoroughly outraged expression by the time he had faced Fudge.

"I will tell you, Minister," he said. "My family is being harassed as a scapegoat for your people's incompetence."

Fudge gasped. "Say it's not true, Lucius!"

"But it is," Lucius said gravely. "Just look. The truth is right there!"

He pointed— directly at Arthur Weasley.

"Consider. This man, while nominally a ministry employee, has nothing to do with this department. His office is not even on this level. And yet here he is sitting in on the interrogation of my family, who he has always done a poor job disguising his hatred for."

"I'm only here as a witness!" Arthur exclaimed. "I left my loved ones alone at home on Holiday because the office needed me. I won't have that demeaned!"

"You know how he is," Lucius said to Fudge, ignoring the man altogether. "Ever obsessed with studying the ways that Muggles roll in their filth. Do you think he cares at all about seeing tormented muggles replaced by my lovely wife and dear son? Do you think he felt the slightest bit of remorse about their fate? It's more likely that he offered them to the perpetrator himself, letting that twisted pervert enact his sick games."

Fudge looked back and forth between Lucius and Arthur, moving his head quickly enough for the fat in his cheeks to flutter. His dislike of the Weasley patriarch was a well known fact. He held him back from a promotion for years, all the way to the end of his tenure as Minister, because he took the man's Muggle fascination as a sign of middling pride (the greatest sin one could commit, in his Fudge's worldview). But Fudge was also an utter coward, and it seemed Lucius was pushing him to take a stand. That frightened Fudge— just as much as the thought of disappointing Lucius did.

Seeing he would need to push harder, Lucius played his trump card.

"This regretful situation has wounded me deeply," he said. "After an experience like this, I no longer believe in the donations I've offered this great ministry."

"No!" cried Fudge.

"Sadly, it's true." Lucius rose, leaning his weight on his cane. "If such a tragedy can occur, where could my Galleons be going? Paying the wages of incompetents so that they can feed their overcrowded families, it seems like."

Lucius turned, walking toward the door. Narcissa and Draco rose behind him, walking past the ministry officials with their noses pointed up. Fudge had a hand pressed to his lips. For every step Lucius took, he bit through one of his nails.

"I'll get rid of him!" Fudge shouted.

The entire room went still. Lucius slowly turned back. He was smiling.

"Tell me more, Minister," he said.

"I'll fire Arthur Weasley," Fudge said. "I'll have him gone by tonight— no, within the hour."

"Minister!" Arthur protested, ashen-faced.

Fudge wheeled on him. "Not another word out of you! On the scene of this awful crime, and you used it as nothing but a chance to get back at a great wizard! Too long I've put up with your twisted thoughts, Weasley. No longer!"

Beside Arthur, Bentley Macmillan looked like he wished awfully badly to speak, but feared that if he did, he would be next. 

"I've done nothing wrong!" Arthur insisted.

"You have some gall to say such a thing with a straight face!" bellowed Fudge. "Out already! You're dismissed!"

"Give it up, Arthur," Lucius purred. "The minister has made his decision. You of all people should know you can't sway his decision."

On the surface, it seemed he was saying Fudge was a man of conviction, who stood beside his decisions. But everyone in the room except Fudge understood the real meaning.

Arthur Weasley was too poor to buy the time of day.

The freshly-fired man rose, his face nearly as red as his hair.

"Do you know," he said deceptively quietly, "how long those two waited in our care? Over ten hours. Where do you think their husband and father was that whole time? To me, that sounds like just enough time to shed a cloak and buy a handful of alibis."

Fudge gasped. Lucius sneered.

"Careful there, Weasley," he spat. "Any more words and I'll have you for defamation. You wouldn't want to lose the last few Knuts you have to your name, would you?"

"Perhaps I should just say I've been Imperiused," Arthur said. "You can get away with anything then."

Lucius grabbed his wand. Arthur was already holding his. Dawlish stepped in front of Fudge, aiming his wand at Mr. Weasley. The department officials ducked away. A heavy hand landed on Mr. Weasley's shoulder.

Kingsly Shacklebolt had stepped forward. He held Arthur's wrist with one hand, and his shoulder with the other. The towering, dark-skinned Auror walked them toward the door.

"Come on, Arthur," he muttered quietly. 

Still hiding behind Dawlish, Fudge shouted, "And clear out your office on the way out!"

Shacklebolt opened the door, guiding Arthur through. Harry followed them. Back inside the room, he caught one final glimpse of Lucius approaching Fudge.

"I must say, Minister, you've really won back my trust recently. Terrible business like that attack must be causing you a lot of stress. How does two-thousand galleons sound— to help the ministry navigate this trying time, of course."

As soon as the door closed, Shacklebolt let go of Arthur, rubbing his back instead. "I'm sorry."

"You've nothing to apologize for." Mr. Weasley sniffed. He looked torn between bursting into tears or casting a curse at the next moving thing he saw. "You're right of course. I had to get out of there. I… I… Merlin, what am I going to tell Molly?"

Shacklebolt continued rubbing his back, right up until, abruptly, he turned and began to sprint off down the hallway, footsteps resounding.

Mr. Weasley jumped, staring after him. "Kingsley?"

"He's perfectly fine," said Harry. "I think I just overcooked the aversion charm a tad."

The man jumped as Harry appeared directly next to him, shedding his cloak. His ski mask was back on, along with the cheap prisoner robes the Aurors outfitted him with. The same one he tore down the middle when he was with Tonks, leaving a vertical sliver of his flesh completely in view.

"You!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed.

He went for his wand, only to stop part way.

"Oh what's the point," he said. "That's not my job anymore."

"Good chap," said Harry. "You know, I saw what happened back there. Bad business. Bad, bad business. I don't like it one bit."

"I don't know if being consoled by a criminal makes me feel that much better," Mr. Weasley admitted. "Was there something you wanted?"

Harry flicked one of his Elder Wands. Mr. Weasley flinched slightly, but the only change to the hallway was a single strip of parchment appearing from thin air. Harry grabbed the conjured paper.

"You could say all of this was my fault," he said. "I embarrassed Malfoy, and he took it out on you. But I like you. You've got guts. That weasel would have nothing on you, if it wasn't for his fortune."

"What's your point?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"My point is that we should even the odds."

Harry held the paper out to him. Mr. Weasley took it, read it over once, and looked back at Harry. "It looks like the instructions for a potion."

"That's exactly what it is!" Harry said. "Take it. Create it— the steps are simple, shouldn't even need a proper lab. Start selling it. That's all you have to do, and you'll never need to think about money again."

Harry would know. It was a potion he himself pioneered in his last life. It turned out he had a real talent for the art, Snape just had it out for him, limiting his original growth. With private tutors, Harry had reached mastery. And of all his creations, the most successful one by far was detailed on that paper, now in Arthur Weasley's hands.

Mr. Weasley stared at the paper. "I have to think about my family. Will doing this let me get my job back?"

"Eventually it will, sure!" said Harry. "If that's what you want. After all, you can buy anything these days, for the right price."

Mr. Weasley gulped hard.

O-o-O

The following day found Ron, Ginny, Hermione and Harry sitting on the living room floor of the Burrow. The first two were enjoying a game of Exploding Snap, while Harry was playing as well but was yet to crack a single smile. Hermione was reading a book.

Arthur Weasley sat in an armchair in the corner with three pieces of parchment in front of him. Fred and George kept to the opposite side of the room, while even Molly gave her husband plenty of space. Everyone had known something was wrong when he arrived back the day before, far too early to have finished work and frighteningly pale in the face. "Would it work…" he was muttering to himself, and had been for the last three hours, eyes darting between the three pieces of parchment in front of him.

Ron went to tap a matching card sitting in front of Ginny, only have it explode on him. Ron flinched back, a bit of black mixing into his eyebrows as his sister laughed at him.

"I don't know!" Mr. Weasley suddenly shouted in the corner, seemingly to himself.'

They all looked over at him, including the twins and Hermione, who temporarily pulled her eyes away from her book.

When they looked back mere seconds later, a few things had changed. Harry was smiling, for one, which was surprising because it hadn't happened once since the night of the Quidditch World Cup. And for another thing a blond girl was sitting with them wearing glasses of her own, which had pink plastic rims. 

"Can I play?" she asked, looking at the game.

"Who are you?" Ginny asked. "Wait… Aren't you in my year?"

"I'm Luna," said Luna. "I was invited over. Can I play?"

Ron resplit the cards and gave Luna her own pile. With all the children home and Harry and Hermione over, being invited by one person or another seemed plausible enough, even with a total stranger.

"Harry, you've got a tattoo!" Ginny said, looking at the waving lines of ink she now spotted on Harry's forearm.

"Wicked!" exclaimed Ron, leaning in to look. "Did you just get that?"

He sounded like he didn't know how that would've worked, but was also confident he would've noticed it if it had been there before this.

"Oh it's been here a little while," said Harry.

"Been 'there' a little while," Hermione corrected.

Harry just smiled.

The game started up again, the four of them playing including Luna. Harry quickly turned his attention to Mr. Weasley, though, watching the man read the same thing over and over, muttering to himself.

"What's your dad up to?" he asked Ron.

Ron winced. He turned over one of his cards, scanning for a match but not spotting any. "You know how he lost his job?"

Harry nodded.

"Well apparently somebody approached him about a 'business venture'. That's all he'd say. Cagey as hell, except with Mom. He sent off owls last night. Got some back in the morning."

"I think he's desperate," Hermione said very quietly, so that Mr. Weasley couldn't hear even if he were listening. "Give him some space."

At that moment, Luna picked herself up and walked directly over to Mr. Weasley.

"What are you doing?" she asked pleasantly.

"I've got a potion idea here," he said aloud, talking distractedly as if he hardly realized he was speaking out loud. "If it works… If it works, it would be the biggest breakthrough since Wolfsbane. No, even bigger. But I just can't… What it does is supposed to be impossible…"

"And what does it do?" Luna asked, prompting him so casually that Mr. Weasley continued to talk.

"It cures squibs. They drink a dose each night for a month, and by the end they can cast magic. It has to be a joke. But I sent off a letter to Dumbledore last night, just in case, and he wrote back this morning saying that it looked legitimate. And I sent off another to an independent Potioneer, and she wrote back saying the same." He looked up, eyes dazed. "That should mean it's real, shouldn't it?"

"It sounds that way," Luna said gravely.

"Then I ought to follow through on this, shouldn't I?"

"If you were so inclined," said Luna.

He stood up abruptly, sending the three papers in his lap — the letters from Dumbledore and the Potioneer, along with the original recipe — wafting to the ground.

"I'm doing it!" he yelled into the room, sounding thoroughly surprised with himself but happy at the same time. "I'm going to patent this, and then… and then… We're just going to see! What do I have to lose?"

Luna clapped for him.

"Thank you," said Mr. Weasley. His eyebrows furrowed as, with his outburst done, seemed to be returning to his senses. "I'm sorry— who are you again!"

"Luna!"

"Luna?"

"Luna!" she repeated. "I was invited."

And that was that.

O-o-O

Five days later, as children all over the house were getting ready for Hogwarts, their dutiful packing was interrupted by Mrs. Weasley. Hardly able to get a word out, she gathered them from all over the house faster than she ever had before. Soon, everyone was around the dinner table, standing behind Mr. Weasley, who was sitting with a piece of paper in his hands. 

Rather than a potion recipe, or letter from one expert or another, this one came directly from Gringotts. It was signed by the Weasley account manager, something the family never had before a few days ago. The entire family read it over Mr. Weasley's shoulder, who seemed quite unable to read it aloud himself.

Their eyes started on the left side of the page, then traced the number on it all the way to the right, passing digits and commas the entire way.

"Am I reading that right?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"I didn't know numbers could get that big!" exclaimed Ron.

"I don't think you should be admitting that, Ron," said Ginny.

Mr. Weasley turned his head around, beaming as the situation sunk in. "Kids, do you understand what this means?"

All the Weasley children present looked at one another."

"We don't have to worry about money for a bit—"

"We're rich," his kids corrected him in unison.

"Filthy rich," Harry said, standing at the far edge of the huddle. "Try to spend it all in one place. You wouldn't even be able to."