Disclaimer: habeo nihil

Chapter Three

There was a short, brief tapping on the door before it slid open to reveal a smartly dressed twenty-something woman. She smiled hesitantly as she shut the door behind her.

“Minister,” she addressed politely and Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, quickly lifted his eyes upwards and away from the swaying of his secretary’s long legs. He’d always had a thing for legs.

“Yes, Natalie?” He hoped she wasn’t here to remind him about his low popularity rating in the polls. His head of public relations, a Mr Nigel Hawthorne, had already depressed him with his current rating; an all time low that could, Hawthorne warned, affect the national election being held in early December. Apparently Death Eaters weren’t any more popular today than they were thirteen years ago.

His only chance of saving the election, he had been informed, lay in the Triwizard Tournament being hosted at Hogwarts that year. The prestigious Tournament would hopefully overshadow the nasty business of the World Cup.

“I’m here to remind you of your one o’clock meeting to discuss the Triwizard Tournament. The delegates from all the schools are due to arrive shortly.” Cornelius found himself admiring her full, red lips as she spoke.

“Of course, of course,” he nodded. “All very exciting what with it being so near. Wish I was still at Hogwarts and could compete myself.”

Natalie smiled brightly at him and Cornelius found himself sitting just that little bit straighter. She really was a pretty thing. Just his type, too.

“Conference room...” He flicked through the large number of papers on his desk, trying to find his list of appointments for the day.

“Two, Minister,” she informed him helpfully. “It’s all set out and refreshments have been provided. But if you should need anything else, I’ll be happy to oblige.”

Cornelius subtly glanced up from his desk then, wondering if she was implying what he thought she might be implying. But Natalie’s smiling visage gave nothing away.

And really, Cornelius told himself as he walked down the corridor to the allotted conference room, he shouldn’t be contemplating such thoughts. He was old enough to be her father. And Patricia, his wife, trusted him and he really did love her, but, well, the years hadn’t exactly been kind. And he was a government official – the Minister of Magic no less! But those legs...

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Cornelius entered the moderately sized room.

“Cornelius,” greeted the already present Albus Dumbledore. “A pleasure as always.” Cornelius detected no insincerity behind Dumbledore’s half-moon glasses.

“Dumbledore,” said Cornelius, nodding in return. “Away from dear Hogwarts already?”

“Not at all. The new school year starts tomorrow. My favourite day, truth be told. All those new faces just about to be sorted. Why, I remember when I was but a boy of eleven standing terrified as I awaited my fate.” Dumbledore’s face took on a nostalgic appearance.

“Of course, of course,” mumbled Cornelius, covering up his blunder.

“But what a year it will be,” Cornelius enthused after a brief pause. “The Triwizard Tournament...” He left the name of the prestigious and ancient competition hanging in excitement.

Dumbledore didn’t seem as enthusiastic. “We shall see, Cornelius, we shall see.”

Cornelius didn’t like the sound of that. He didn’t have a chance to question Dumbledore, though, as the delegates from the other two partaking schools arrived.

“Madame Maxime,” Cornelius greeted jovially, grimacing slightly as the remarkably tall women bend down to shake his outstretched hand and ended up shaking his entire arm. He briefly wondered what sort of bizarre couple had joined together to create such a woman.

The smile dropped slightly as Cornelius saw the two men who followed. “Monsieur Lambert,” he greeted as the balding head of France’s Department of International Magical Cooperation drew closer. “And Monsieur Blanc, a pleasure as always.” The thin, white-haired head of the Department of Games and Sports in France inclined his head in greeting.

Cornelius was relieved to see the next figure enter. “Barty, glad you managed to make it. Geraldine,” he mentioned, referring to Barty’s secretary, “said you might not be able to make it.

“Oh, and Frau Massingham, how good to see you again.” Frau Massingham, a bespectacled middle-aged woman with slightly thinning chestnut hair, was Barty’s counterpart in Germany.

“Herr Braun is most sorry he is not here,” she told Cornelius with only the slightest German accent affecting her speech. “His daughter broke her arm and he is in hospital now.”

The last man to enter was the Headmaster of Durmstrang Institute. He was tall and thin with snow-coloured hair and a curled goatee that couldn’t quite manage to conceal his weak chin.

“Herr Karkaroff,” smiled Cornelius, undaunted by the man’s superior size.

“Minister,” Karkaroff greeted in turn, revealing his yellow-stained teeth.

Cornelius then looked at the doorway again. Ludo Bagman, the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, was also supposed to be present at this meeting but there was no sign of the retired Beater. He quickly glanced at Barty who gave him a pointed look, urging him to forget Ludo and continue on with the meeting. Cornelius took the hint.

He chuckled shortly. “It’s a pleasure to see you all once again,” he told them jovially. “And I guess this will be our last meeting before the event itself.” His voice was filled with excitement.

“I feel best that I should interrupt now, Minister,” interjected Frau Massingham.

Cornelius’s smiling face turned to bewilderment. “Huh?”

“The German ministry feels - and I am sure the French will agree -” she looked towards the French contingent, “that the safety of our students is questionable if they go to Hogwarts for the Tournament.”

“Safety of the students?” questioned Cornelius. “Preposterous!”

“’Ardly prepost’rous,” disagreed Lambert.

“But – but Hogwarts is the safest place in the magical world!” the British Minister of Magic declared.

It was Karkaroff who took up the gauntlet next. “Once, maybe, but I seem to recall the escaped murdered Sirius Black breaking into Hogwarts only last year.” An alumnus of Hogwarts, Karkaroff seemed to have no love of his alma mater.

“If I may interrupt,” began Dumbledore, entering into the discussion. “No child came under harm last year from Black and I hope you can recall that he was captured on Hogwarts grounds.”

“But I specifically recall that Black escaped from Hogwarts.” Karkaroff’s cold eyes sent a challenge at Dumbledore.

“Indeed, I cannot deny it,” admitted Dumbledore. “However, I am sure you of all people, Igor, will remember the power that Voldemort-”everyone flinched but Dumbledore carried on regardless “- once wielded. And it is rumoured that Black was his most loyal supporter, unless, of course, you are willing to admit that Sirius Black was not in fact a Death Eater?” Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled.

“I would not know,” spat Karkaroff before falling silent.

A stiff silence permeated the room for a moment before the Headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy spoke. “Ah, but Dumbly-dorr, can you guarantee zat zis sort of zing will not ‘appen again? I mus’ zink of my students and zair safety.”

Dumbledore peered over his half-moon glasses and looked her right in the eye. “My dear, Madame Maxime, I am afraid my ability in Divination is lacking to say the least and I am sadly unable to predict any possible misfortune that might occur within the next year, but I give you my utmost assurance that I will do everything in my power to ensure the safety of any student within Hogwarts.”

“While I do not question your power, Professor, you still offer no firm promises. The happening with Black took place under your sight, unless I am mistaken.” The comment came from Frau Massingham, her light brown eyes piercing from behind her thick-rimmed glasses.

Dumbledore sighed slightly. “I cannot deny it.”

Seeing how the argument was swinging in favour of the foreigners, Cornelius stepped in to take control. “Well if you’re so concerned about it-”

“We are,” interrupted Madame Maxime.

“-then I will personally see to it that the British Ministry will provide extra security.” Cornelius couldn’t quite understand why Barty sighed so deeply at his words.

Barty’s French counterpart lifted an eyebrow. “Like ze extra security for the Quidditch World Cup, hmm?” He turned towards his government associate. “Monsieur Blanc, if you please.”

The white-haired Blanc who had remained silent throughout the meeting removed something from his inside jacket pocket. A swish of his wand later and the retrieved object was enlarged. Cornelius swallowed heavily when he realised exactly what it was – a copy of the Daily Prophet.

It was a copy from a few days ago. Just after the World Cup. A moving photograph of a burning forest with the fire taking on the shapes of gigantic beasts: serpents, dragons, chimaeras... In the picture people were fleeing from the fire with the occasional fiery creature pursuing them, sometimes with devastating consequences.

Monsieur Blanc cleared his throat before beginning to read the article aloud. “The Quidditch World Cup, a time of célébration and national pride as ze world focused its attention on Britain. In actuality, a disaster waiting to happen. For some, ze World Cup of nineteen-ninety-four will be remembered only as a tragedy, and for uzzers as a lucky escape.

“Cheers of célébration turned to cries of fright and zis eentrepid reporter felt it ‘er duty to discuzzer what was wrong and keep ze public eenformed about what would prove to be major Ministry blunders. Ze vaunted security zat Minister Fudge ‘ad lauded only days before proved to be nozing more than a joke as dark wizards dressed in masks reminiscent of Death Eaters began to terrorise ze public unchecked.”

Cornelius shut his eyes, wishing he could drown out the sound of Blanc reading. Damn Rita Skeeter and her downright obnoxious reporting!

“... Ze culprit of ze Fiendfyre, which took ze lives of at least zwelve people, ‘as not been eedentified with one Ministry worker ‘eard remarking zat “Ze Ministry ‘ave no clue who did it”. With ‘zis in mind, ze government’s claims of “Following leads” lacks any assurances and could be considered a downright untruth. Ze Ministry with zair lax security ‘as no control over ze situation.”

He paused, now mid-way through the article. “Do you wish me to continue?”

“No, that’s enough, thank you,” Cornelius muttered, bordering on rudeness. He only wondered now what all this set-up was leading to. “I do assure you, though, that the author of that article is notoriously biased and unreliable. I also assure you that the Ministry does have leads that we are pursuing at this very moment in time.”

No one looked impressed with his little speech and he could tell that none of the brought the ‘pursuing leads’ response; several of them were politicians, after all.

“Evidently,” began Monsieur Lambert, “even your own countrymen do not believe in your Ministry’s security measures. ‘Ow do you expect us to believe in zem?”

Barty spoke up then and Cornelius felt a surge of hope that he would somehow save the day. It was not to be, however. “What exactly are you suggesting, Monsieur?”

“Zat ‘Ogwarts is not suitable to ‘ost ze Tournament,” declared Lambert. “Ze ‘onour should go to eizer Beauxbatons or Durmstrang. Do you agree, Frau Massingham?”

“I agree,” said the German witch.

Cornelius couldn’t believe what was happening. “But – but, all the plans! It took a whole year to set up and everything would need to be rearranged. You can’t alter all that in a few days!”

“I agree,” stated Frau Massingham. “Dat is why I vote to move the Triwizard Tournament to next year.”

“What? But – but –”

“But what, Minister? You said yourself zat more time is needed. We are seemply postponing ze Tournament for anuzzer year.”

“Which school, then, would host the Tournament if not Hogwarts?” Barty asked, obviously remembering how four and a half months of the planning had been taken up with discussions over which school would take the honour. Hogwarts had eventually been settled on since, had the Triwizard Tournament not been stopped, Hogwarts would have been the next school to host.

Monsieur Lambert glanced at his German counterpart. “While I would vairy much like Beauxbatons to ‘ave ze ‘onour, I do not wish to go through anuzzer four months debating.” Cornelius smelled a conspiracy. “Zerefore, France passes on ze ‘onour to Durmstrang.”

Frau Massingham smiled, a glimpse of her white teeth showing. “Does Hogwarts concede?” She asked turning to Dumbledore and bypassing Cornelius entirely.

Dumbledore gave a small smile. “I have learnt over the years to pick my battles wisely, Frau Massingham. Hogwarts concedes, on this occasion.”

Cornelius was wondering when everything had started to get out of hand. Things were happening too quickly.

“Then we are all agreed upon, ja?” Frau Massingham glanced between each member of the table. The members of the French contingent were all nodding. Dumbledore’s head inclined gracefully, conceding to the German witch. Karkaroff was smirking in glee. Barty gave a stiff nod, his narrow, toothbrush moustache doing nothing to cover up his grim frown. And when the head of the German Department of International Cooperation turned to face him, Cornelius could do nothing but paste a slightly pained smile onto his face and nod.

What quickly followed was a serving of refreshments, but Cornelius was too preoccupied to later recall what he ate. Discussion over the new plans carried on throughout.

“Of course, we thought,” said Frau Massingham referring to the German government she represented, “that we might think of altering the group number of students coming to Durmstrang. That was one of the main problems we saw with the previous arrangement.”

“Oui, oui,” agreed Madame Maxime eagerly. “Ze separation of a small group of students from ze main school is most disagreeable. I often feared for zair education in certain areas with moi as ze only teacher for an entire year.”

“A matter I, too, found unpleasant, Madame,” concurred Karkaroff with a crooked smile. “I preferred how the Triwizard was organised originally, with all the students travelling to the hosting school.”

Dumbledore, finishing off a cucumber sandwich, added his own opinion to the mix. “Well I always thought it a great shame that the number of tasks was cut down to three. I felt a greater number of challenges offered a better chance of showing the variety of the students’ skills. We will, of course, have to rethink all of the challenges.”

“What?” It was obvious from the expressions of the Germans and the French that they hadn’t thought of this.

“Warum?” questioned Frau Massingham, her shock making her slip into her native tongue.

Dumbledore was forced to explain. “I believe in the rules it states, though I ask Barty to confirm or deny this, that the tasks, while proposed by any school, must be organised by the hosting country.” He looked over to Barty.

“Indeed that is the case,” he confirmed. “And no task may copy one arranged in the competition consecutively previous. All the tasks planned for the Hogwarts tournament are therefore removed from consideration.”

“So we ‘ave to think up new tasks,” repeated Monsieur Lambert, his facial expression not able to mask his annoyance at this turn of event.

Dumbledore smiled jovially. “A good job we have an entire year, then.”

000

Twenty seven eaten sandwiches later along with a quick fire call to the Romanian dragon reserve to cancel plans and conference room two had emptied somewhat. Only three figures remained behind: Cornelius, Barty and Albus Dumbledore.

“Can someone please explain to me what just happened?” Cornelius asked aloud. “I came here to help iron out any small problems and – and now...”

“Durmstrang is to host the Triwizard Tournament,” finished Dumbledore with a weary sigh.

Cornelius still couldn’t believe it. “But how, Dumbledore? How did this happen?”

“I’m afraid we were outmanoeuvred, Minister,” Barty told him. “There was little we could do with both the French and the Germans agreeing.”

“But that’s what I don’t understand! Why were the French backing the Germans’ bid? It makes no sense. Why, throughout all the meetings they seemed to be at each other’s throats half the time! It just makes no sense.”

It was Dumbledore who chose to enlighten the Minister. “In Germany’s newspaper today you will find that the contracting bid for building a new hospital in Dresden was won by the company L’Aurore, which is-”

“French,” finished Cornelius.

“And which happens to have a major stockholder in Jean Lambert.”

Cornelius huffed. “Of course it does, that French swine. I always knew there was a reason why we hate the French so much.”

“Quid pro quo,” Barty said softly under his breath.

“What was that, Barty?” asked Cornelius. “My French has never been that good.”

Barty looked at the Minister in contempt. “It’s Latin, actually. It means tit-for-tat.”

“What?” Cornelius thought about it for a bit. “Oh, right. Yes, yes - that’s it exactly.”

There was a lull for a few seconds. “So what are we going to do?” Cornelius eventually asked.

“What do you mean, Minister?”

“I mean, what are we going to do about all this? The Triwizard Tournament, Barty? What are we going to do about it?”

Dumbledore sighed again and pushed his slipping half-moon glasses up his nose. “I am afraid, Cornelius, that there is nothing we can do except attend some meetings over the next year and, from what I could gather, convey the entire student population at Hogwarts to Durmstrang in a year’s time, or thereabouts.”

“But – but everyone in the Ministry knows!” Cornelius cried. “I’ll be a laughingstock. Merlin only knows what will happen if that damned Skeeter woman gets hold of this!”

Dumbledore smiled slightly. “That, Cornelius, is the responsibility that comes with the office of Minister of Magic. I, for one, would never want it. I am quite content with my office at Hogwarts, which,” he said pulling out a strange pocket watch with all sorts of dials from his pocket, “I must be returning to for there is much to do before tomorrow. So I shall bid you both farewell, Barty, Cornelius.” He nodded at the both of them and headed towards the door.

“Until the next meeting, Dumbledore.”

“Yes, well - goodbye.”

With Dumbledore’s departure, Cornelius was left with Crouch. “So it’s really not going to happen, then? There’s really not going to be a Triwizard Tournament this year?” The reality of the situation was starting to settle in.

“No, there is not,” Barty told him bluntly, his annoyance with the minister’s incomprehension beginning to show. “Now if you excuse me, I, too, must return to my office. I have a meeting to attend to.”

“But – but, Barty, what am I going to do?” Cornelius could only think of Nigel Hawthorne’s words: “The Triwizard Tournament is you’re only hope for salvaging the December election”.

“That,” said the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, a man who had himself narrowly missed the office Cornelius now held, “is your problem, Minister.” He then opened the door and left the room, leaving behind a man whose life had just taken a most unfortunate turn for the worst.

It didn’t help that, not five minutes after Barty’s exit, the door opened. This time it revealed the tall figure of Ludo Bagman. His round blue eyes sparkled and his lips were turned up into a smile. Looking around he noticed that only the Minister was present. “Sorry about that, Cornelius,” he apologised. “I didn’t miss anything important, did I?”

And Cornelius, deciding then and there that the world had something against him, dropped his face against the conference table and said nothing.