Harry Potter and the Potter Grimoire

Chapter 39: Final Moments in a Shifting Tide

Amelia Bones, Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement, sat in the Minister of Magic office speaking with the Current Minister, a Titerius Ogden, sat in the Minister's seat, his face was round as his body, though his forearms were massive. Ogden was a charms master, an accomplished duelist in his youth and started in the Ministry as a Hit Wizard before moving into the Department of International Relations under Crouch. When Crouch lost his position last year, he assumed the role of Head, and within a year was Minister of Magic. Amelia knew his father, Tiberius, was thrilled to have a son as successful as him. Though if his father saw him now, she was unsure what his reaction would be.

"I warned you! I told him that he was necessary for the Auror force! Instead, he went ahead and got himself killed! It's lucky that we only had seven fatalities even if Robards will never be the same. And don't think I don't remember you overstepping me either Amelia!" Titerius blustered as his face was blotched red from his yelling. Amelia ignored him as she focused on the tea in her cup.

"Well? What do you have to say for yourself Amelia?" He huffed as he sat back in his chair and waited. Amelia sighed and looked up at the Minister. She opened her mouth before he cut her off.

"If what you are about to say isn't, You were right Minister, you better keep it to yourself. I can repl-" Amelia's eyes narrowed and in a flash, her wand was in her hand, a silencing charm placed.

"I have sat here for over two hours getting scolded by you. So, for the next minute, you will listen. You will understand. Rufus' death is terrible, not just for the ministry but for me. Just as the other seven aurors lost. It is not your job to draft the letters to the family members, nor is it your job to clean their cubicles. It falls to me and mine, thus, stop concerning yourself with it. Memorialize them, and then move on. As far as this war is concerned, I know exactly what footing we are on. We are precariously winning. Winning a war where we are besieged on two sides, where one of our strongest players just disappeared in Albus Dumbledore, and where the leader of one opposition appeared to do battle with another. My Aurors retreated, as ordered by myself and Rufus. Rufus passed away on that island, and the island was safely removed from this plane, possibly injuring the Dark Lords present while leaving another key figure unharmed in Harry Potter. Our situation is precarious, not dire, and that is all I am thankful for Minister." She took a breath before her visage turned stoic. "I have no issue with you Titerius, but you forget that during times of War, I am the ministry. If you want to replace me, you better come with a better reason than you feel disrespected. Moving on, we need to discuss funerals. Are we having them? Are we honoring Dumbledore's wish of a Hogwarts funeral?"

Titerius sighed before gulping his tea. "I am sorry Amelia. I know you are doing your best, and this is an unprecedented situation that the ministry finds itself in. No, that the entirety of wizarding Britain finds itself in. As for funerals, we go forward with Dumbledore's plans. Unspeakables are stating that the area where Azkaban sat is fragile on the dimensional level. They suspect that Dumbledore's body will fall through any day now. We will hold the funeral then."

Titerius didn't know how correct his timeframe was, as just at that moment a courier knocked on the office door and peeked her head in.

"Minister, Madam, Unspeakables just confirmed that they have recovered the remains of Albus Dumbledore."

The somber office tone rapidly descended into a palpable sadness as Titerius rose from his seat, went to the cabinet on the left side of the fireplace, and removed a stash of firewhiskey. Pouring two glasses, one levitated towards Amelia who snatched it from the air. Silently the two raised a glass to the fallen headmaster of Hogwarts.

Voldemort folded out of the shadows with a hiss of agony, gracelessly stumbling towards the only standing chair. He ignored the unconscious form of Augustus in his room, as he fell into the chair. He fumed as he stared at the burns that littered his arms and legs. While they were healing, the mere fact that they existed annoyed him. The only reason that he even survived Dumbledore's plot was his Shadow Walking. And he already knew that such a thing was lucky, not skillful. To think that this whole time, Dumbledore could have shifted an area the size of Azkaban into another plane entirely... He mentally shuddered at the thought. There was a reason he was weary of facing him.