Harry Potter historical fic
The following is the product of my vacation. I know I was supposed to be writing DWYS, but this happened instead. It's AU as of the Deathly Hallows release, but contains NO spoilers. It's probably extremely crack-tastic, or will turn out to be -- it's WWII-era HP-verse fic, probably because I was reading William Shirer while on vacation.
This is a rough draft. It needs polish, it needs a beta reader -- but I think that this is going to be my next big project, fanfic-wise, while I digest DH and spit back out DWYS. Chapter Fifteen's coming along, but there's a certain tone I'm trying to capture, and it's being difficult.
I really would like to know what people think of this, so feedback is even more encouraged than usual.
Also, I'd love it if someone who knew more about WWII than I do would help me fact-check this thing and keep my timeline accurate.
Residence of the Minister of Magic - London, England - 10 May 1937, 1015 hrs
The home of the Minister of Magic reposed quite serenely in a place that should not have existed. Its location, between Nos. 10 and 11 Downing Street, had been chosen in 1913 by then-Minister of Magic 'Mad' Cornelius Abernathy after he'd burned the original residence to the ground while eluding a highly determined pair of assassins.*
There had been strenuous objections to the placement of this building in the heart of Muggle London, but by the time Abernathy's removal from office had been effected+ the residence had been completed and there was no sense in building another, especially after all the trouble that the Muggle Relations people had been through to hide it. Also, by that time the Great War had broken out, and keeping an eye on the Muggles had become a priority for the Ministry.
*********
*The assassins had been sent by certain prominent members of the magical community as a response to Abernathy's proposal of a tax increase for the old, landed families. The assassins both perished in the fire, reportedly on purpose, so as to avoid having to tell their employers that they had failed. Abernathy, reportedly one of the most stubborn wizards ever to draw a wand, passed his tax increase anyway and chose the new location for his residence deliberately to annoy Augustus Malfoy, who was both the instigator of the assassination attempt, and a frequent visitor to the Minister's residence.**
**Abernathy is quoted as having said: "I may be right next to the blasted Muggles, but it's sure to infuriate that prig Malfoy the next time he comes 'round whinging before I've had my breakfast." (Milroy Parkinson: Cornelius Abernathy: Minister and Madman pg 325)
+It is perhaps worth noting that Abernathy's political career ended abruptly in 1915 after an unknown assailant cursed him into thinking he was a chaise lounge. His replacement, Donegal Merridan, immediately repealed the tax increase, and Abernathy died in St. Mungo's in 1925, still under the impression that he was a piece of furniture.
*********
By the time the war had ended, even Augustus Malfoy, the most outspoken of Abernathy's opponents, had become used to its location. The wizarding community had not involved itself in the War, but alien round-ups, and the constant sweeps for spies and saboteurs, had made life more difficult than it had been in the pre-War years. Members of the Muggle Relations Department had been forced to retrieve more than one witch or wizard whose "suspicious behavior" had gotten them locked in a Muggle prison under suspicion of being an enemy agent.
And it's probably about to start all over again, Nick Prewett thought grimly, as he handed his coat and hat to Donaldson, the butler, who had been at 10 1/2 Downing Street since Mad Abernathy himself had run the place.
Donaldson gave him a stiff nod, and intoned: "The Minister is expecting you, Mr. Prewett."
"Wonderful," Nick muttered.
If Donaldson heard, he gave no sign of it. "This way, sir," he said, and led the way to the Minister's study.
Nick had never met Marcus Scrimegour before. The Minister was a busy man, and Nick's own position in the Department of Muggle Relations was far too minor for them to cross paths. Under ordinary circumstances, Nick would have had to advance several degrees in Ministry hierarchy to even see him at the office, let alone receive an invitation to his residence, but then, circumstances were far from normal.
Nick had been angling for this meeting for months because his sense of duty forbade him from doing anything else, but Ian McGillis, his immediate supervisor, had told him that he had precious little chance of getting the Minister's ear.
McGillis had been even more surprised than Nick himself to get Scrimegour's note summoning Nick to a ten o'clock meeting at the Downing Street address.
"For Merlin's sake," McGillis had said, "don't mouth off to the old bastard. I know you were a bloody Gryffindor, and therefore have no fear of man nor sodding beast, but Scrimegour's got no patience for upstart junior Ministry officials who can't remember that they're not fucking prefects any longer. No, no," as Nick opened his mouth to protest, "I know you don't mean to, lad, but when that damnable temper of yours is up, you have a hell of a lot of trouble distinguishing what you can say from what you bleedin' should."
Ian McGillis was a bluff, dark-haired Scotsman with the foulest mouth Nick had ever come across, who could nevertheless talk as smoothly as a schooled diplomat when addressing a superior.
He was a good ten years older than Nick was, and built along the same slender lines; nevertheless, he'd been a star Beater on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team while at Hogwarts, even playing for the Glasgow Goblins for a few seasons before a fall from a broom had injured his knee beyond even magical repair.
He'd come to work for the Department of Muggle Relations almost directly afterward, and had proven to be quite good at his job, to the surprise of a great many of the people who were familiar with his personality and vocabulary. He was responsible for interfacing between senior Ministry members and the Deparment's agents in the field, such as Nick, who kept an eye on Muggle doings, and, in fact, should have been the one to get the meeting with Scrimegour. McGillis didn't care about such things, though, which was one of the reasons he was such a good man to work for.
Donaldson led Nick to an ornate anteroom, and motioned to a seat. "Minister Scrimegour will be with you shortly," he said, his voice breaking in on Nick's reverie, before slipping through the carved wooden doors at the far end of the room.
Nick was too nervous to sit, so he paced instead. He was a tall, slim young man of 23, with short blond hair and good cheekbones, and his pale blue eyes held a worried look that was too old for the rest of his face. Women found him handsome; men found him likable, and he'd been able so far to get through life on a combination of intelligence and charm - neither of which was likely to impress Scrimegour. He paused to straighten his hair in the mirror.
"Don't look so nervous, dear," it told him. "He doesn't bite, you know." Nick stepped away from the mirror, wishing that it was only Scrimegour that had him worried.
The wooden doors opened, and Donaldson made his glum reappearance. "The Minister will see you now," he said in solemn tones, and Nick went through the doors to Scrimegour's office, trying not to look so nervous.
Marcus Scrimegour was a heavyset man with greying hair and dark, purposeful eyes. He had been an Auror, long years ago, and there was still the telltale alertness in his face that spoke of a man who had once seen combat. His mouth was grim, and his bushy eyebrows nearly met, so ferociously was he scowling. He was not alone in the room. Harold Bagman, head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation was there, as was Crastor Moody, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
Tiberius Malfoy, whose position in the Ministry was as nebulously defined as it was influential, was lounging gracefully in one of the plush chairs in front of the desk. Nick had gone to school with his eldest son, Julius, though they'd been in different houses and detested one another on general principle. Still, Malfoy, Senior, was no fool, and Nick was momentarily grateful for his presence. It wasn't only his fortune that had made him so influential in the Ministry. He also gave unvarnished, unbiased advice that was, according to rumor, worth its weight in gold.
"Young Prewett," Scrimegour said. "I knew your father. Went to Hogwarts with him."
"Yes, sir," Nick said.
"Are you as bull-headed as he was?" Scrimegour asked bluntly, and Nick noticed Crastor Moody hiding a smile.
"I try to be, sir," Nick said.
"I'd say so. When I requested a meeting with you, my office told me you'd been pestering them for four months trying to set up one of your own." His sudden scowl was fierce. "I apologize for that, my boy. I had... words with them about that."
Nick blinked, trying not to let his surprise show on his face. Scrimegour had requested this meeting? That fact, in addition to the top brass standing around in the office, made him wonder if his worries were indeed about to be taken seriously.
"Nevertheless," Scrimegour continued, "You're here now. Why don't you tell us what you wanted to talk about?" After one nervous glance at the notables in the room, Nick squared his shoulders and began.
"Sir - Sirs, I'm not sure how informed you are on the situation in Germany," he started, looking around the room.
"For the moment, Mr. Prewett, let us assume that we are rather under-informed," said Tiberius Malfoy silkily.
"Yes, sir. Alright, then. The Muggle leader there is a man by the name of Adolf Hitler. He took power very suddenly, and with a tremendous upswell of popular support from the common people. His internal policies are bad enough, though I shan't go into them here, as they do not directly concern us, but he is making certain moves that we might want to keep an eye on.
"For one thing, he's making very threatening noises on the Continent, and it looks very much as though he's preparing for war. The last time the Muggles got to fighting, it caused a great deal of inconvenience to wizards across the country. He's also highly interested in the occult, and has got Muggles scouring all of Germany looking for magical artifacts. Most of what they've found is Muggle trumpery, but he has come across a few genuine items, several of which could prove dangerous if left in his hands."
"So we contact the German Ministry," Bagman said, "and get them to reclaim the items. Nothing you've told us about is terribly serious."
"That was the third issue," Nick said, "the German Ministry." Wincing at the awkwardness of his words, he pushed ahead. This was the real reason he'd been trying to talk to Scrimegour. "Minister Scrimegour, I was in Berlin less than five months ago, and I had occasion to talk to several officials from the German Ministry of Magic." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "They may be wizards, sir, but they are German first, and I am more than a little concerned at the overall attitude I encountered there. I speak German, but I didn't inform them of the fact, and some of the things they let slip were...telling."
"Explain," Scrimegour ordered.
"There were pro-Nazi sentiments voiced; even some mention of giving magical aid to Hitler in the forthcoming war, albeit without informing him of the fact."
"That is a bit more serious," Bagman allowed. "The Germans must not be allowed to risk the secrecy clause in some ridiculous Muggle war."
"It gets worse, sir," Nick said. This was the part he'd been dreading; this was what was going to get him laughed out of Scrimegour's office and possibly the Ministry itself. "I was at one of the rallies, to see what it was like, and-" He paused.
"What is it, man?" Crastor Moody snapped.
"I saw Hansel Grindelwald. Up on the platform, with Hitler. I don't know if the Muggles could see him or not, but he was wearing a German uniform."
The men around the table exploded, all of them talking at once.
"Ridiculous," Bagman began, while most of the others had some variety of the same thing to say. Only Malfoy and Scrimegour remained silent; finally, Moody won out over the others by smacking one large hand down on the table with a great deal of force.
"Enough!" he said. The others fell silent. Tiberius Malfoy's drawling voice cut through the sudden stillness.
"I do not think," he said smoothly,"that Mr. Prewett is a stupid man. Nor do I think that he is delusional. His accusation that Lord Minister Grindelwald has involved himself with the Muggle government of the country he is supposed to be running is a very serious one, a very serious one indeed. He has nothing to gain by making it, and a very great deal to lose. Many important men in this country are tied closely to Grindelwald; it would be the height of foolishness to make such an accusation without proof, or at least the ability to provide it." He paused, just long enough to let his words sink in, then continued before anyone else could interrupt. "Consider, gentlemen, just why we are all here this morning."
"This is hardly the same-" Bagman began, but Malfoy cut him off.
"It is more important than anything we expected to hear, and you know it." Turning his attention back to Nick, he asked: "I assume you can be Pensieved, Prewett?"
When Nick returned from being Pensieved - a process he did not enjoy in the slightest - Scrimegour, Bagman, Malfoy, and Moody had been joined by Alfred Mercer, his own Department head, and by Percy Longbottom, Deputy Minister of Magic. Their faces were grave, and after they'd viewed the memories in the Pensieve, the expressions around the long table were even more serious.
"Thank you, Prewett," Scrimegour said. "This was excellent work, and your persistence in trying to relay this information speaks highly of your intelligence. Donaldson will show you out, but I will see you again, you can be sure of that."
1938 :
Everything might have been all right, too, except that Marcus Scrimegour lost the March elections, and the new Minister of Magic, Pellham Smith-Pinkersly, was not interested in antagonizing Grindewald, or in losing out on the very profitable business associations he and his associates shared with the man. Marcus Scrimegour retired to the country, Crastor Moody was replaced as the head of Magical Law Enforcement, and Tiberius Malfoy returned to his Manor, though it was well known that he kept one finger firmly on the pulse of things at the Ministry.
Nick tried twice to see Smith-Pinkersly, but the second time, he was reprimanded for breaking the chain of command, so he didn't try again. In late 1937 he'd been switched to the Department of International Magical Cooperation at Harold Bagman's request, though the man himself hadn't said two words to him since he arrived. Nick had been assigned to the American desk - a sort of punishment all on its own, in his opinion - but he kept his head down and did the best work he could. He missed working for Ian McGillis.
For his part, Tiberius Malfoy missed being actively involved at the Ministry. Life at Malfoy Manor was idyllic, if one's idea of idyllic had been cultivated by membership in a family of wizards whose interests ranged from Dark Grey to Dark, and had done so over a number of centuries. He always had the option of involving himself in Muggle politics,* but to take such a step to alleviate his boredom would be drastic, and was at the moment unnecessary. Besides, given the current climate, it might well cause unwanted complications.
No, it was better to sit at home, quietly, and sow seeds of doubt by owl and private interview. Smith-Pinkersley was the worst kind of fool, and Tiberius would do everything in his considerable power to see that he lost the next election.
***
*The Malfoys had been given their original grant of land from the first William, for assistance that was never recorded in any Muggle or magical history.** The land came with a title, which the Malfoy heirs have seldom used save to maintain their land, but Tiberius (who involved himself heavily in Muggle politics from 1939 until his death in 1954) "lived and breathed politics, and boredom was for me the worst kind of torture." ( Millroy Parkinson: Tiberius Malfoy: Statesman and Slytherin pg. 146)
**It is rumored that this assistance involved the use of several Dark curses of the worst nature, aimed at the most opportune of times, at certain of William's opponents. This has never been proven, and several wizards of the time were challenged to duels - and killed - by the first Lord Malfoy for suggesting such a thing.
This is a rough draft. It needs polish, it needs a beta reader -- but I think that this is going to be my next big project, fanfic-wise, while I digest DH and spit back out DWYS. Chapter Fifteen's coming along, but there's a certain tone I'm trying to capture, and it's being difficult.
I really would like to know what people think of this, so feedback is even more encouraged than usual.
Also, I'd love it if someone who knew more about WWII than I do would help me fact-check this thing and keep my timeline accurate.
Residence of the Minister of Magic - London, England - 10 May 1937, 1015 hrs
The home of the Minister of Magic reposed quite serenely in a place that should not have existed. Its location, between Nos. 10 and 11 Downing Street, had been chosen in 1913 by then-Minister of Magic 'Mad' Cornelius Abernathy after he'd burned the original residence to the ground while eluding a highly determined pair of assassins.*
There had been strenuous objections to the placement of this building in the heart of Muggle London, but by the time Abernathy's removal from office had been effected+ the residence had been completed and there was no sense in building another, especially after all the trouble that the Muggle Relations people had been through to hide it. Also, by that time the Great War had broken out, and keeping an eye on the Muggles had become a priority for the Ministry.
*********
*The assassins had been sent by certain prominent members of the magical community as a response to Abernathy's proposal of a tax increase for the old, landed families. The assassins both perished in the fire, reportedly on purpose, so as to avoid having to tell their employers that they had failed. Abernathy, reportedly one of the most stubborn wizards ever to draw a wand, passed his tax increase anyway and chose the new location for his residence deliberately to annoy Augustus Malfoy, who was both the instigator of the assassination attempt, and a frequent visitor to the Minister's residence.**
**Abernathy is quoted as having said: "I may be right next to the blasted Muggles, but it's sure to infuriate that prig Malfoy the next time he comes 'round whinging before I've had my breakfast." (Milroy Parkinson: Cornelius Abernathy: Minister and Madman pg 325)
+It is perhaps worth noting that Abernathy's political career ended abruptly in 1915 after an unknown assailant cursed him into thinking he was a chaise lounge. His replacement, Donegal Merridan, immediately repealed the tax increase, and Abernathy died in St. Mungo's in 1925, still under the impression that he was a piece of furniture.
*********
By the time the war had ended, even Augustus Malfoy, the most outspoken of Abernathy's opponents, had become used to its location. The wizarding community had not involved itself in the War, but alien round-ups, and the constant sweeps for spies and saboteurs, had made life more difficult than it had been in the pre-War years. Members of the Muggle Relations Department had been forced to retrieve more than one witch or wizard whose "suspicious behavior" had gotten them locked in a Muggle prison under suspicion of being an enemy agent.
And it's probably about to start all over again, Nick Prewett thought grimly, as he handed his coat and hat to Donaldson, the butler, who had been at 10 1/2 Downing Street since Mad Abernathy himself had run the place.
Donaldson gave him a stiff nod, and intoned: "The Minister is expecting you, Mr. Prewett."
"Wonderful," Nick muttered.
If Donaldson heard, he gave no sign of it. "This way, sir," he said, and led the way to the Minister's study.
Nick had never met Marcus Scrimegour before. The Minister was a busy man, and Nick's own position in the Department of Muggle Relations was far too minor for them to cross paths. Under ordinary circumstances, Nick would have had to advance several degrees in Ministry hierarchy to even see him at the office, let alone receive an invitation to his residence, but then, circumstances were far from normal.
Nick had been angling for this meeting for months because his sense of duty forbade him from doing anything else, but Ian McGillis, his immediate supervisor, had told him that he had precious little chance of getting the Minister's ear.
McGillis had been even more surprised than Nick himself to get Scrimegour's note summoning Nick to a ten o'clock meeting at the Downing Street address.
"For Merlin's sake," McGillis had said, "don't mouth off to the old bastard. I know you were a bloody Gryffindor, and therefore have no fear of man nor sodding beast, but Scrimegour's got no patience for upstart junior Ministry officials who can't remember that they're not fucking prefects any longer. No, no," as Nick opened his mouth to protest, "I know you don't mean to, lad, but when that damnable temper of yours is up, you have a hell of a lot of trouble distinguishing what you can say from what you bleedin' should."
Ian McGillis was a bluff, dark-haired Scotsman with the foulest mouth Nick had ever come across, who could nevertheless talk as smoothly as a schooled diplomat when addressing a superior.
He was a good ten years older than Nick was, and built along the same slender lines; nevertheless, he'd been a star Beater on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team while at Hogwarts, even playing for the Glasgow Goblins for a few seasons before a fall from a broom had injured his knee beyond even magical repair.
He'd come to work for the Department of Muggle Relations almost directly afterward, and had proven to be quite good at his job, to the surprise of a great many of the people who were familiar with his personality and vocabulary. He was responsible for interfacing between senior Ministry members and the Deparment's agents in the field, such as Nick, who kept an eye on Muggle doings, and, in fact, should have been the one to get the meeting with Scrimegour. McGillis didn't care about such things, though, which was one of the reasons he was such a good man to work for.
Donaldson led Nick to an ornate anteroom, and motioned to a seat. "Minister Scrimegour will be with you shortly," he said, his voice breaking in on Nick's reverie, before slipping through the carved wooden doors at the far end of the room.
Nick was too nervous to sit, so he paced instead. He was a tall, slim young man of 23, with short blond hair and good cheekbones, and his pale blue eyes held a worried look that was too old for the rest of his face. Women found him handsome; men found him likable, and he'd been able so far to get through life on a combination of intelligence and charm - neither of which was likely to impress Scrimegour. He paused to straighten his hair in the mirror.
"Don't look so nervous, dear," it told him. "He doesn't bite, you know." Nick stepped away from the mirror, wishing that it was only Scrimegour that had him worried.
The wooden doors opened, and Donaldson made his glum reappearance. "The Minister will see you now," he said in solemn tones, and Nick went through the doors to Scrimegour's office, trying not to look so nervous.
Marcus Scrimegour was a heavyset man with greying hair and dark, purposeful eyes. He had been an Auror, long years ago, and there was still the telltale alertness in his face that spoke of a man who had once seen combat. His mouth was grim, and his bushy eyebrows nearly met, so ferociously was he scowling. He was not alone in the room. Harold Bagman, head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation was there, as was Crastor Moody, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
Tiberius Malfoy, whose position in the Ministry was as nebulously defined as it was influential, was lounging gracefully in one of the plush chairs in front of the desk. Nick had gone to school with his eldest son, Julius, though they'd been in different houses and detested one another on general principle. Still, Malfoy, Senior, was no fool, and Nick was momentarily grateful for his presence. It wasn't only his fortune that had made him so influential in the Ministry. He also gave unvarnished, unbiased advice that was, according to rumor, worth its weight in gold.
"Young Prewett," Scrimegour said. "I knew your father. Went to Hogwarts with him."
"Yes, sir," Nick said.
"Are you as bull-headed as he was?" Scrimegour asked bluntly, and Nick noticed Crastor Moody hiding a smile.
"I try to be, sir," Nick said.
"I'd say so. When I requested a meeting with you, my office told me you'd been pestering them for four months trying to set up one of your own." His sudden scowl was fierce. "I apologize for that, my boy. I had... words with them about that."
Nick blinked, trying not to let his surprise show on his face. Scrimegour had requested this meeting? That fact, in addition to the top brass standing around in the office, made him wonder if his worries were indeed about to be taken seriously.
"Nevertheless," Scrimegour continued, "You're here now. Why don't you tell us what you wanted to talk about?" After one nervous glance at the notables in the room, Nick squared his shoulders and began.
"Sir - Sirs, I'm not sure how informed you are on the situation in Germany," he started, looking around the room.
"For the moment, Mr. Prewett, let us assume that we are rather under-informed," said Tiberius Malfoy silkily.
"Yes, sir. Alright, then. The Muggle leader there is a man by the name of Adolf Hitler. He took power very suddenly, and with a tremendous upswell of popular support from the common people. His internal policies are bad enough, though I shan't go into them here, as they do not directly concern us, but he is making certain moves that we might want to keep an eye on.
"For one thing, he's making very threatening noises on the Continent, and it looks very much as though he's preparing for war. The last time the Muggles got to fighting, it caused a great deal of inconvenience to wizards across the country. He's also highly interested in the occult, and has got Muggles scouring all of Germany looking for magical artifacts. Most of what they've found is Muggle trumpery, but he has come across a few genuine items, several of which could prove dangerous if left in his hands."
"So we contact the German Ministry," Bagman said, "and get them to reclaim the items. Nothing you've told us about is terribly serious."
"That was the third issue," Nick said, "the German Ministry." Wincing at the awkwardness of his words, he pushed ahead. This was the real reason he'd been trying to talk to Scrimegour. "Minister Scrimegour, I was in Berlin less than five months ago, and I had occasion to talk to several officials from the German Ministry of Magic." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "They may be wizards, sir, but they are German first, and I am more than a little concerned at the overall attitude I encountered there. I speak German, but I didn't inform them of the fact, and some of the things they let slip were...telling."
"Explain," Scrimegour ordered.
"There were pro-Nazi sentiments voiced; even some mention of giving magical aid to Hitler in the forthcoming war, albeit without informing him of the fact."
"That is a bit more serious," Bagman allowed. "The Germans must not be allowed to risk the secrecy clause in some ridiculous Muggle war."
"It gets worse, sir," Nick said. This was the part he'd been dreading; this was what was going to get him laughed out of Scrimegour's office and possibly the Ministry itself. "I was at one of the rallies, to see what it was like, and-" He paused.
"What is it, man?" Crastor Moody snapped.
"I saw Hansel Grindelwald. Up on the platform, with Hitler. I don't know if the Muggles could see him or not, but he was wearing a German uniform."
The men around the table exploded, all of them talking at once.
"Ridiculous," Bagman began, while most of the others had some variety of the same thing to say. Only Malfoy and Scrimegour remained silent; finally, Moody won out over the others by smacking one large hand down on the table with a great deal of force.
"Enough!" he said. The others fell silent. Tiberius Malfoy's drawling voice cut through the sudden stillness.
"I do not think," he said smoothly,"that Mr. Prewett is a stupid man. Nor do I think that he is delusional. His accusation that Lord Minister Grindelwald has involved himself with the Muggle government of the country he is supposed to be running is a very serious one, a very serious one indeed. He has nothing to gain by making it, and a very great deal to lose. Many important men in this country are tied closely to Grindelwald; it would be the height of foolishness to make such an accusation without proof, or at least the ability to provide it." He paused, just long enough to let his words sink in, then continued before anyone else could interrupt. "Consider, gentlemen, just why we are all here this morning."
"This is hardly the same-" Bagman began, but Malfoy cut him off.
"It is more important than anything we expected to hear, and you know it." Turning his attention back to Nick, he asked: "I assume you can be Pensieved, Prewett?"
When Nick returned from being Pensieved - a process he did not enjoy in the slightest - Scrimegour, Bagman, Malfoy, and Moody had been joined by Alfred Mercer, his own Department head, and by Percy Longbottom, Deputy Minister of Magic. Their faces were grave, and after they'd viewed the memories in the Pensieve, the expressions around the long table were even more serious.
"Thank you, Prewett," Scrimegour said. "This was excellent work, and your persistence in trying to relay this information speaks highly of your intelligence. Donaldson will show you out, but I will see you again, you can be sure of that."
1938 :
Everything might have been all right, too, except that Marcus Scrimegour lost the March elections, and the new Minister of Magic, Pellham Smith-Pinkersly, was not interested in antagonizing Grindewald, or in losing out on the very profitable business associations he and his associates shared with the man. Marcus Scrimegour retired to the country, Crastor Moody was replaced as the head of Magical Law Enforcement, and Tiberius Malfoy returned to his Manor, though it was well known that he kept one finger firmly on the pulse of things at the Ministry.
Nick tried twice to see Smith-Pinkersly, but the second time, he was reprimanded for breaking the chain of command, so he didn't try again. In late 1937 he'd been switched to the Department of International Magical Cooperation at Harold Bagman's request, though the man himself hadn't said two words to him since he arrived. Nick had been assigned to the American desk - a sort of punishment all on its own, in his opinion - but he kept his head down and did the best work he could. He missed working for Ian McGillis.
For his part, Tiberius Malfoy missed being actively involved at the Ministry. Life at Malfoy Manor was idyllic, if one's idea of idyllic had been cultivated by membership in a family of wizards whose interests ranged from Dark Grey to Dark, and had done so over a number of centuries. He always had the option of involving himself in Muggle politics,* but to take such a step to alleviate his boredom would be drastic, and was at the moment unnecessary. Besides, given the current climate, it might well cause unwanted complications.
No, it was better to sit at home, quietly, and sow seeds of doubt by owl and private interview. Smith-Pinkersley was the worst kind of fool, and Tiberius would do everything in his considerable power to see that he lost the next election.
***
*The Malfoys had been given their original grant of land from the first William, for assistance that was never recorded in any Muggle or magical history.** The land came with a title, which the Malfoy heirs have seldom used save to maintain their land, but Tiberius (who involved himself heavily in Muggle politics from 1939 until his death in 1954) "lived and breathed politics, and boredom was for me the worst kind of torture." ( Millroy Parkinson: Tiberius Malfoy: Statesman and Slytherin pg. 146)
**It is rumored that this assistance involved the use of several Dark curses of the worst nature, aimed at the most opportune of times, at certain of William's opponents. This has never been proven, and several wizards of the time were challenged to duels - and killed - by the first Lord Malfoy for suggesting such a thing.