HP: A Magical Journey

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When the West party and the Ministry escort reached the designated meeting room, they were greeted by Amelia Bones. The Minister rose from the black chesterfield sofa in greeting. “How are you doing today, Mr. West?” she smiled.

“Not well,” George said bluntly as he directly sat on the sofa opposite without exchanging the customary polite greeting. “I do not like what is happening in this country, my country. A madman is running freely in the country, blowing up Auror’s Office, barging into Ministry and taking hostages. . . and who knows what he’s doing now.” He peered at Amelia, who was still standing, “And when I ask anyone or read the paper, all I hear and see is that your government is a strong one, or at least is supposed to be.”

Amelia sighed deeply and sat back in her spot, and Scrimgeour sat by her side, with Elliot taking a seat beside George. Orrin Bach placed himself on one breadth of the table alone while Robards and Secretary sat opposite him. The bodyguard walked straight to the bar in the room while Kingsley stood next to the wall near everyone.

“We are trying to keep him down,” said Amelia; gone was the polite smile, and back was the woman who had reigned over the DMLE, “but with the current situation, it has been getting difficult to properly deal with with the Dark Lord and his minions.”

“And what are these problems?”

“How can I truly focus on the threat when I’m shackled down by internal problems.”

“What, the blood supremacist? Minister, you’re making me doubt if you’re truly committed to dealing with the threat as quickly as possible. You can’t use them as an excuse when you have been handling them just fine during your time in DMLE.”

“My ranks were clean when I was the Head of DMLE. All I get to deal with now is a building full of people who wouldn’t move a finger if it’s not doing them some personal good,” the Minister’s one grey hair looked whiter than ever.

“Give them a boot; you’re their boss.”

“If it could be that easy, politics gets in the way.”

“It isn’t that difficult,” George said unperturbed.

The Ministry officials all showed some form of reaction to the words. It wasn’t a secret to them that George had dug his claws into the Ministry. But the way he had done so made them twitch— the speed at which the reach of his influence had grown was astounding, to say the least. George West had never been directly involved with the Ministry; there were always systems in place that would facilitate him when required— but never directly. It was as if West always knew that something like would happen and had cast the net when needed. And all of it had been done out of spite and just because he could do it.

“The Dark Faction have been clogging up Wizengamot for months. Whenever I try to bring something of real consequence up, they just make a f-” Amelia held her tongue, “mess of things. The other factions try to intervene, but eventually, everything turns into a pissing contest between men.”

“Why do you need Wizengamot’s approval for anything? You’re the Minister of Magic with a background in DMLE of whom I suppose you have the support,” George pointed to Scrimgeour. “What is the problem; because I can’t see any.”

“Resources are the problem, Mr. West. DMLE doesn’t have enough resources to deal with the current situation. Even with the lethality law in place, the force can’t make a difference if they don’t have the means for it.”

“DMLE’s budget hasn’t dipped since you assumed the big office. The Aurors Office and the Hit Wizard Bureau never had a shortage of funds during your time. You lobbied the budget to be highest after war times.”

“After the war times, that’s the crux. . . the wartime budgets were much higher than anything I saw coming in. We are at war, Mr. West— houses are being broken into, families are being threatened, and just last week, I had cases of six Muggleborn deaths done with Death Eater work all over it— DMLE can’t fight this without a war chest.” Amelia sighed as she gazed at George, “But you already know this, or else you wouldn’t have arranged this meeting. . .”

“That is true,” said George, “and I’m here to help, so how can I help?”

“I need your help in clearing up the Wizengamot clog so that I can redirect the budget to DMLE. The Grey Faction needs to participate in the hearings more proactively; what they’re doing is not supportive enough. . . . I also know that you have ties to some in the Dark Faction; the Ministry would appreciate it if you could have them soften up.”

If George had been any other rich man, Amelia would’ve never bothered to meet him like this— she would’ve lobbied him differently. But the Wests were entrenched in the country more deeply than most people could imagine. A request like this would usually require her to reach out to various people who would reach out to various other people— but there sat a single person who could handle all that for her and could do it much smoother, quicker, and discreetly than she could with all the eyes upon her right now.

George turned to Scrimgeour and posed a question, “Can you assure me that you can show some results with an influx of resources?”

“I assure you we can,” said Scrimgeour, steely certainty in his tone. “My people have been working hard with what they have; they will work harder if they get the right means for their job.”

George peered at Amelia, Scrimgeour, and Robards. He nodded, “I will help you clear up the mess at Wizengamot; start preparing for the motions you want to present, and I guarantee they will be properly discussed.” Everyone from the Ministry smiled as they exchanged looks of happiness.

“Thank you, Mr. West; this would truly be of great help,” Amelia said.

“And I can provide you with my contacts,” said George, making everybody look at him. “I’m willing to provide you with my contacts, access to my trade routes, better prices on purchases. . . additionally, I can provide external funds— my gold— to the efforts in the war.”

Orrin Bach, the lawyer, took out a sheet of paper from his briefcase and slid it over to Amelia. He smiled, “There’s the number Mr. West is willing to provide to war efforts.”

Amelia picked up the sheet and started to read what was a short description of what George was willing to provide, and as she reached the end of the page, her eyes widened at the string of digits printed on the bottom right corner. She looked up at George as she passed the page to Scrimgeour. “Are you sure? This is a sizeable amount,” she said.

“That’s something to say,” Scrimgeour breathed out.

“I can get the talks going in Wizengamot,” started George, “but do you think with the current divide, you’ll be able to gather the amount you need? This isn’t like last war, Madam Minister. Before the Dark Lord, the purebloods supremacists got what they wanted by exerting control from the shadows; they believed themselves superior to the others, but they talked about it behind doors. During his reign, they were enabled to display their views in the open and now could silence those who didn’t think the same way— purebloods who didn’t agree became blood traitors and either got killed or outcasted. . . Muggleborns who previously were at least welcomed into our world suddenly felt it to be cold, harsh, and unwelcoming. After his fall, the purebloods who had tasted power couldn’t go back to the days of pulling strings from behind the curtain; they had tasted what it felt like to be in open power, and with a weak administration, they took the chance and cemented their position despite being in a disadvantageous situation. Some were pushed as scapegoats, while others got free by paying petty fines and using the Imperious excuse. Over the last ten years, the pureblood influence has risen instead of getting weaker— the Boy-Who-Lived might have been a Symbol of Hope, but the Dark Lord was a Mark of Fear that persisted even after his supposed death. Yes, some purebloods tried to fight for equality, but it didn’t change the fact that all enjoyed the benefits.”

Amelia knew that better than anyone. No matter what Faction, they all had used the opportunity to position themselves in prominent positions. It was why they had so few Muggleborns in prominent positions of power, and the entire Ministry’s upper hierarchy was occupied with purebloods, the vacuum in the middle had been taken up by Halfbloods, leaving the scraps to the Muggleborns.

“You might not get what you’re expecting,” finished George.

“. . . Even then, I can’t accept this. If this was a donation to DMLE’s support fund, I could’ve imagined it going through— but you’re offering it as war support; I have no way of accepting this. I can still accept the other help, but not the direct gold.”

“Oh, but you can,” said Bach with his lawyer smile. He pulled out a thick stack of paper and placed it on the table. He placed his on the stack and said confidently, “This here details how the DMLE can accept the gold within the confines of the law. . . barely, but still within the law— and you get to use it for war purposes.”

“Take it now,” said George calmly, “or forget about it.”

“I can’t accept this now. I have to get this checked,” Amelia pointed to the stack.

“You can get it all checked; we will forget about it if you find any illegality. But you have to decide now if you want it or not.”

Amelia stared at the stack, then at Scrimgeour, the Secretary, and Robards. Scrimgeour slightly nodded while the other two didn’t send any negative signals. Amelia took out her handkerchief and started cleaning the monocle she wasn’t wearing; she looked up at George and nodded. “I accept. As long as there are no problems concerning the legality, I will appreciate the help,” she said.

“Excellent choice.” George got up with everyone following him. “I hope I won’t come to regret today, Minister. I’m expecting some returns from this.”

“You won’t regret this, Mr. West; you won’t.”

. . .

This time around, Amelia accompanied George to see him off. After today, if she could get the entire Ministry, she would get them together to see George off.

“Who’s the bodyguard,” asked Amelia, glancing at the fedora-clad man walking ahead of everyone. “Is he from the Limax?”

“You know about Limax?” asked George, quirking his brow.

“I’ve seen their name plenty of time on documents when you bring them into the country.”

“I see. No, he is not from Limax; they are busy with other. . . commitments. Laro is an independent contractor and a friend.”

“Scrimgeour was giving him looks; Robards as well.”

“He is good, that’s why.”

As they reached the end of the hall, nearing the floo, it burnt up green, and a figure stepped out, making everyone stop when they recognized the man. George’s brows furrowed together when he saw the man, and Elliot was no different with his smile slipping away.

“Good day. . . everyone,” said Dumbledore as he fixed the hat on his head.

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George West – GrandMC – Returns. . . those I will get.

Amelia Bones – Minister – She doesn’t know it yet.

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